


Winds of Change

by AbhorrentSelkie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Claude von Riegan has anxiety, Eventual Relationships, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, I'm Bad At Summaries, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Literally Everyone Else - Freeform, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racism, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbhorrentSelkie/pseuds/AbhorrentSelkie
Summary: Curled up in the armchair by the fireplace in the little library, Khalid felt utterly alone. Alone in a world that didn’t seem to want him all that much. Alone as a boy whose own family didn’t know what to do with him. Alone, an heir with a foot in two kingdoms and place in neither.Khalid has always struggled in a world that doesn't seem to have a place for him. A letter from a grandfather he's never met sets him on a course for a future where things are different - if he can reach it._____On-hold for a little while. I've been having trouble sitting down and writing this one, not because I've lost interest, but because it takes a lot of energy and concentration that I don't have right now. I started writing other stuff, hoping some variety would help, and it did to some degree, but I think I need to take a break to recharge, if that makes sense.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 57





	1. Family Ties

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so bad at summaries lol. Had this in my head, and had to start writing it. Basically, a Claude origin story that goes on through the game's events, with eventual canon-divergence. Tags will be updated later, as things become relevant. This is my first time using AO3, so I'm still trying to figure out how it works.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid visits his estranged grandfather in Fodlan.

Khalid had never heard his mother mention her family until the moment he read the letter over her shoulder. It had always been obvious, of course, that Queen Tiana was not Almyran. With her fair skin, green eyes, and light chestnut hair, she stood out among the native Almyrans around them who were mostly dark-skinned with thick, dark hair and amber eyes. Of course she was of Fódlan blood, though Khalid had never given much thought to what her life had been like before she’d come to Almyra and married Khalid’s father. She’d never deigned to tell, and Khalid had never dared to ask.

This Fódlan blood had caused no small amount of hardship for his mother and, consequently, for Khalid. Relations between the two countries were practically exclusively militaristic – though, Almyra’s relations to just about anyone were stained in the blood of battle. To Almyrans, the people of Fódlan were seen as spineless cowards, enemies. Despite the fact that Tiana was their queen, it didn’t stop anyone from sneering behind her back, or even casting stones if they thought there was no one around to see. She’d long since learned to hold her chin up and bear this treatment with dignity and indifference.

Khalid had a harder time dealing with the blatant bigotry. Half-Almyrans were even more rare in Almyra than Fódlan-born; Khalid had never met another. His tan skin, soft brown hair, and striking green eyes drew attention just as readily as his mother’s Fódlan features. Being a prince on top of being of mixed blood had left Khalid with a target on his back from the moment he drew his first breath.

That was nothing new. The letter, however, was something entirely new. The envelope detailed no sender, nor did it bear an identifiable wax seal to hint at its origins. It was simple and unassuming. The parchment inside was thick, expensive stock. Khalid’s mother unfolded it with idle curiosity as he watched. A symbol he didn’t recognize was drawn in the top right corner in rich, luxurious ink that glimmered faintly in the soft candle light. It was in the shape of a crescent moon with several spiked points and lines through it.

Tiana sighed heavily, tracing a delicate finger over the symbol. “What is that, mother?” Khalid wondered.

“A letter from my family back in Fódlan,” she said after a pause, not really answering the question he was asking. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before they learned what had become of me.” She fell silent, reading and making no attempt to hide the letter from her son’s inquisitive gaze. It was written in the Fódlan language, which Khalid’s mother had taught him long ago.

_My dearest Tiana,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It has been many years since last we’ve met, but my heart still feels the ache of your loss as deeply as the day we first found that you’d left us. Despite my own feelings, I have respected your desires and not sought you out all this time, hoping that your decision to leave us has brought you happiness._

_It is with a heavy heart that I seek you out now, that I write this letter in the chance it manages to reach you. I regret that I must bear the news of your brother Godfrey’s untimely passing._ _His loss has made the world a shade darker, and in my failing health, the shock of it has weakened my old heart. I am alone now, all my family either gone or buried._ _Nothing would make me happier than to see my beloved daughter again in this trying time, as well of the smiling faces of any grandchildren that I may unknowingly be blessed with._

_Please, consider granting an old man his whims. I fear I haven’t too many years left, and wish to spend that time with what family remains to me. Please send word with your response as quickly as you are able so preparations may be made._

_Warmest regards from your loving father,_

_Oswald von Riegan_

The letter was short, and Khalid read over it twice before his mother lowered it. Despite its honeyed words, there was something curt and hollow hidden between the lines. Neither spoke for a long moment. “Oswald von Riegan,” he muttered to break the heavy silence that had settled over them. “My grandfather?”

“Yes,” she said, voice clipped.

“You’ve never told me about your family.” She didn’t respond, staring blankly down at the strange crescent moon that adorned the paper. “Why did you leave? Were they mean?”

She chuckled without humor. “Always so curious. No, they weren’t mean, exactly. But family ties are different in Fódlan than they are here in Almyra. Among the nobility, marriages are born for the sake of political power and wealth. Children aren’t free to marry for love. That’s why I left.”

“To be with Father.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes. But this is where I belong.” Khalid opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “I never told you about them because I’d put that part of my life behind me long ago. I never intended for you to meet them.”

“Do you mean you plan to go?” he asked, a small spark of hope coloring his tone. He’d never been to Fódlan. Of course he hadn’t; it was difficult and dangerous to cross the border at Fódlan’s Throat without being struck down by the Leicester Alliance troops that defended it. While not impossible, there’s simply been no reason to try. But now...

“Perhaps. I will have to discuss it with your father.” Khalid recognized the finality in her tone and knew there would be no more discussion on the matter until she and his father had reached a decision. He tried not to feel the sting of disappointment. His father disliked nearly anyone of Fódlan blood out of principal, like all Almyrans. He was, perhaps, a hair more ambivalent toward them than most, considering he had fallen in love with one and sired another, but that didn’t mean he was about to let his wife and son go anywhere near the border for the sake of a couple Fódlan nobles he’d never met.

Although, Khalid reflected after his mother had wandered off, Queen Tiana was a force to be reckoned with. If she wanted something, gods help the poor saps who dared stand in her way. And he had never known his father to deny her anything; Khalid, he had no problem denying, but Tiana held the man’s heart in a way no other living thing could possibly hope to achieve. Perhaps there would be a chance, after all.

Days toiled away while Khalid waited. He knew better than to pester his mother about the matter. If she had an answer, she would tell him. He tried his best to seem like he wasn’t anxiously waiting, but he was sure she saw right through him. Somehow, she always did, no matter how good he got at hiding away his true thoughts and feelings. She always claimed it was a mother’s intuition, but he wasn’t so sure.

He spent his days much the sames as he always did: pointedly avoiding his twin half-brothers, Amir and Hassan who, despite being four years older than himself, never seemed to have grown out of their favorite pass-time of tormenting Khalid; and training. With Nader shouting criticisms in his ear, and demanding he go over the drill he was working on for dozenth time until he got it absolutely perfect, how could he have time to worry about his mother’s answer concerning the letter? Salma, the oldest of the four children, watched on from the side, cheering Khalid’s successes and offering kind encouragement when he messed up.

On the fourth day after receiving the letter, his ears finally caught on the familiar sound of his parents in the midst of a heated discussion as he passed their bedchamber late in the evening. He wasn’t sneaking around their room hoping to hear such a thing – as far as anyone could prove – but he wasn’t one to pass up a chance to get some information when the chance presented itself. Khalid pressed his ear lightly to the rich dark wood of the door.

“It’s your family, my star,” his father’s deep timbre said with surprising softness. “If you wish to go, then I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”

His mother sighed. “You don’t know them, Rashad. My father isn’t a loving man. He hasn’t tried to find me all these years, not because he was respecting my wishes, but because it wasn’t worth the hassle to do so.”

“Then why reach out now? Is it not possible the loss of his son has changed him?” In Almyra, a man’s sons were his legacy, his pride and joy – though, some days, Khalid felt his own father might have missed that memo, at least where Khalid himself was concerned – and to lose one was a cause for mourning throughout their community. On the opposite side of that coin, a son falling in an honorable battle brought honor to the family. Almyrans certainly loved their battles and bloodshed.

She bit out a harsh laugh. “It was the loss of his son, alright.” Her voice had taken on the edge of a well-honed blade, sharp and lethal. Khalid had only heard it a handful of times, and knew it was best to get out of her sight when he did. “With Godfrey’s passing, he’s lost his heir. As it stands now, when he dies, House Riegan dies with him and another house in the Alliance takes leadership. He’s scrounging for an heir.” Khalid’s heart skipped in his chest.

“He’s hoping, if you reconnect with him, he will eventually be able to claim Khalid as his heir.” His father was silent for a moment. “Would that really be so awful?”

“What are you saying?” his mother spat. Khalid could practically see the fire and brimstone in her eyes, like an angry mother wyvern rounding on some unfortunate beast that’s wandered too close to her nest. “But of course, since he’s half-Fódlan, he’s not as important as your other sons.” Despite the words were said in spite rather than in truth, they stung all the same.

“I didn’t say that, Tiana. Do not put words in my mouth.” He could hear his father struggle with his temper, taking a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. “But shouldn’t it be Khalid’s decision?”

“He’s just a boy.”

“He’s fifteen,” his father argued. “Nearly a man, and certainly capable of making his own choices without his mother’s permission.”

“He’s a child! He doesn’t know those people, doesn’t know how things are in Fódlan. My father doesn’t care about family, he just wants to use our blood for politics.” He could hear his mother’s footsteps as she paced back and forth.

“That same blood which has put his life in danger from the moment he was born,” his father said, voice firm, yet gentle. “What kind of life is it here, always looking over his shoulder for assassins hiding in the shadows? Being cursed by the servants, spit on by passers-by in the streets? Tormented by his brothers?” This surprised Khalid. His answer to his son’s hardships had always been to tell him to take it like a man and stop whining. Only the strong survive, after all.

“They only torment him because you allow it,” she spat back. “And you think his life would be any easier there? The people of Fódlan are no more welcoming of outsiders than Almyrans. Perhaps they would be less direct, but his every moment would be scrutinized, his every word distrusted.”

“He is strong and clever; he’s had to be to survive. If that is the road he wishes to travel, I have no doubt he’d overcome whatever obstacle is set in front of him.” His mother’s footsteps stopped. “You’re assuming he would even chose to play your father’s game to begin with.”

“I suppose you’re right...”

His father laughed softly. “Of course I am. Go, love. Mourn your brother. Let our son choose his own path.”

If anything more was said, Khalid didn’t hang around to listen, scurrying back to his room to think over all that he had heard. “Choose my own path...” He settled on the window sill, gazing up at the bright stars above. If given the choice, what would he choose? He sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. What road would he walk, and what obstacles would he face?

Briefly, he considered seeking out Salma. She always knew the right things to say, but a feeling in the pit of his stomach held him back. Kind as she was, close as they were, she was still full Almyran, daughter of their father’s first wife, a woman named Aisha. Sympathetic as she was to his problems, she couldn’t relate. It was a problem she would be unable to help him with.

Khalid didn’t sleep well that night, mind too busy churning through those questions over and over again. By morning’s light, he had still not found an answer.

~OoO~

It was a long voyage from Almyra to Fódlan, despite the fact that they shared a border. Crossing Fódlan’s Throat would have been much too dangerous. Instead, they had to travel by ship, from Almyra to an island controlled by Sreng, then Sreng to a small island that lie between the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance that was controlled by the latter. From there, they would be able to sail to Derdriu, the Alliance’s capital city. It was the route his mother had traveled years before when she first left Fódlan and made her way to Almyra.

Khalid enjoyed their weeks at sea. He’d never been sailing before, and found the salty breeze refreshing. Almyra, with its vast deserts and lush, verdant plains was beautiful, but there was something thrilling about seeing nothing but blue no matter which direction you looked. Khalid would idle away the days by climbing the rigging to find the best perches from which to watch the ocean churn beneath them and the sky change hue as the sun trailed across.

Most of all, however, he did what he’d always done best since he was a small child: ask his mother incessant questions. He wanted to know anything and everything about the Derdriu, about the Alliance, about Fódlan. She’d never spoken of it before, and he was eager to learn as much as he could before they arrived. Books in Almyra on the subject had been scant, and the stories told by soldiers were, at best, unreliable. Information is best when you get it straight from the wyvern’s mouth, after all.

She answered what she could, only slightly bothering to hide her growing frustration with Khalid’s relentless barrage of questions. For every fact he learned, five more questions sprouted on his tongue, and he practically tripped over himself to get them all out, lest he forget to ask one. By the time they reached the Leicester-controlled island, her patience had grown rather thin and Khalid knew better than to keep pestering her.

Khalid’s mother had warned him that Fódlan was far colder than Almyra, though he hadn’t really realized to what extent that would be true. It was the middle of the Great Tree Moon when they made port on the small island, and Khalid shivered in a frigid breeze. In Almyra, the mid-spring weather would already be warm and dry, leading up to a sweltering summer. Mid-spring in Fódlan seemed more akin to Almyra’s cold seasons, and Khalid found himself bundling up under layers of clothing to keep warm.

They rested in a small port town for a few days, and Khalid took the time to explore his first taste of Fódlan. Though it was mostly just a fishing town, the sights and smells excited him. Cuisine in Fódlan, he found, tended to be light, flavors leaning toward sweet or salty. Thick creams sauces and baked goods and confections in every shape, color and flavor abounded. In Almyra, the food was hearty, commonly fried or cooked over an open flame, seasoned with rich and potent spices. It took a couple days for his stomach to adjust to the change, but he found it to be quite pleasant.

One thing was very much the same as it had been in Almyra: people stared. Not at his mother, of course. But at Khalid. He heard their whispers follow him, men speculating about his intentions and mothers warning their children to stay away. Khalid ignored them. He was good at that.

After their brief respite was over, they boarded a merchant ship bound for Derdriu, their passage already secured by Duke Riegan after Khalid’s mother responded to his letter. The merchants gave Khalid a wide breadth, no more trusting of him than the people of the village. To their credit though, none of them said a word. His mother said that if there was one thing sailors were good for, it was keeping their thoughts to themselves and not asking too many questions.

The final leg of the journey was much shorter than the previous two. Soon enough, the mainland came into view as they sailed parallel with the coast. Khalid watched the landscape as it passed by, green and bumpy with hills and cliffs, so very unlike Almyra’s flat plains. Merchant ships crisscrossed the waves between the Alliance and Faerghus, white sails billowing in the strong breeze.

His mother stood with him on the bow of the ship on their final day aboard. Her expression was far away, pensive and uncertain, seemingly a match to the gray cast of sky above. She pointed to a far-away gray blot farther down the coast. “Derdriu is there,” she explained. “It prospers through production of goods in the factories and trade by sea. They call it the Aquatic Capital.”

As they neared the city, Khalid could see why. Massive fortified walls were built right in the water with armed guards patrolling atop them. Ballistiae were mounted at set intervals across the walls, ready to fire on ships looking to attack. Beyond the walls, the city seemed to float atop the gently rolling waves.

It was midday when they finally docked, though the day was dull and dreary as rain threatened to break from the clouds at any time. The city was imposingly large and claustrophobic, even from the docks where sailor and merchants bustled too and fro, moving cargo and manning stalls selling fresh fish. Buildings reached intimidating heights, but stood clustered so close together, it was like being in a labyrinth of stone and mortar. He studied everything in awe, itching to get a chance to explore the city.

That chance, of course, was not going to be for a while. As he and his mother made their way off the dock, a man in armor approached them, bearing a yellow crest Khalid recognized from a book his mother had shown him, the symbol of the Leicester Alliance. He bowed deeply at his mother. “Lady Tiana.”

She drew herself up, eyes softening as the met the man’s gaze. He was older, a bit of gray speckling the black stubble on his chin. “Sir Detrus,” she greeted warmly. “You’ve hardly changed a bit.”

The man grinned broadly. “Nor you, my lady. I recognized you in an instant.” His eyes fell on Khalid, expression shifting from subtly from confusion to suspicion before settling back into what he probably hoped was a polite smile. “And who’s this?”

“My son,” Tiana said tightly. “Khalid.”

Sir Detrus bowed slightly to Khalid. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Khalid.” Khalid nodded, not buying it. The knight turned back toward his mother. “Duke Riegan has instructed me to escort you home.”

“How very kind of him.” Two more soldiers approached and relieved a couple of sailors who’d offered to help of the pair’s luggage before Sir Detrus led them to a carriage. The three of them boarded, the soldiers following along with a cart to carry their things. The carriage wound its way through the city as the adults chatted. Khalid listened, though offered nothing in response. He learned that Sir Detrus had long been serving as the captain of Duke Riegan’s personal guard, a position that was of high esteem, and had known Tiana since she was a young girl. Every once in a while, Khalid caught the man casting sidelong glances his way, making a face as if he had something he wanted to say but kept thinking better of it.

The carriage rumbled and rattled its way out of the city, and along a well-tended road through lush woods. Flowers were in full bloom, and a light rain began to fall, batting the delicate petals down as dirt turned to mud. It wasn’t long before the trees gave way to a tall stone wall, guards standing at attention before an iron gate. Khalid recognized the crescent moon among the sturdy bars.

Beyond the gate, a lush, well-manicured lawn sprawled before an opulent manor. Hedges lined the path up the hill, and a small but elegant fountain stood before the steps that led up to a massive set of dark wood double doors, the path making a loop around the fountain.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the stairs and they waited while the driver jumped down from his seat and opened the door. Sir Detrus stepped out first, offering his hand toward Khalid’s mother to help her down. She accepted it, and Khalid hopped out after her. The three of them headed up the stairs quickly to get out of the rain, coming down harder than it had been before.

The doors swung open for them as they approached and they stepped into a large foyer, two sets of symmetric stairs leading on either side of the room to an upper level. Several paintings of people Khalid had no knowledge of were hung in expensive gilded frames. A chandelier cast warm candle light over the room. As they stepped in, Khalid noticed the tile on the floor made a mosaic in the center of that same crescent moon from before. The opulence struck Khalid. Sure, being a prince of Almyra, Khalid was no stranger to the grandiose, but the architecture of Fódlan seemed to make everything feel otherworldly, like something out of a dream.

An uneven _clop-clop-tap_ sounded from the staircase on the left as an elderly man slowly made his way down with the help of an elegant cane. The man’s white hair was combed back, the ends just reaching his collar with a slight curl. His face was creased with wrinkles, skin drooping over what had once likely been a strong jaw. He had the same emerald eyes as Khalid’s mother and, by extent, Khalid.

No one said a word until the man came to a stop in front of them, both hands resting heavily on the jeweled head of the cane. “My darling, Tiana,” he said in a croaky voice, lips curling up in a kind smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome home.”


	2. The Crest of Riegan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Duke Riegan teaches Khalid about their family's Crest.

Everyone was silent for a long moment. Duke Riegan was, evidently, waiting for a response from his daughter, but she didn’t seem to be interested in offering one. After a few uncomfortable moments passed, Duke Riegan cleared his throat and his eyes fell on Khalid. For just a split second, the corners of his mouth tugged down in distaste as he looked Khalid up and down before schooling himself back into that fake pleasant smile.

“My grandson,” he greeted with carefully cultivated warmth in his tone, stepping toward Khalid and putting a shaking hand on the boy’s shoulder. He studied Khalid closely for a moment. “Ah, you have the eyes of a Riegan.” Hand still clamped tightly on Khalid’s shoulder, Duke Riegan turned back toward his daughter. “You’ve no idea what the two of you coming home means to me.”  
“I think I do,” Tiana disagreed tightly. “This is not our home, Father.”

He chuckled lightly, his hand finally falling away and returning to perch atop the cane. “Nonsense, child. This ancestral manor is home to any of Riegan blood, no matter how long they’ve been away.” Tiana looked like she might protest, but Duke Riegan turned away and started toward the stairs. “Come now, you must be weary after your long journey.”

Tiana cast a longing glance toward the door, just for a second before following after him, Khalid on her heels. He studied the portraits they passed, wondering who all of them were. His ancestors, no doubt, forever memorialized in the halls that generations of Riegans had inhabited.

As Duke Riegan slowly climbed the stairs with his estranged family trailing behind, he spared a glance over his shoulder at Khalid. “I’m afraid I’ve taken leave of my manners. What is your name, son?”

“Khalid,” the boy answered, noticing the way the man’s lips drew down at the sound of the Almyran accent. Khalid remembered his mother’s warning that he need to be on his best behavior, a perfect gentleman by Fódlan standards rather than Almyran ones. “It is an honor to meet you, Duke Riegan. Thank you for having me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Khalid saw his mother nod slightly, a rare mark of approval.

Duke Riegan chuckled, shoulders shaking. “Now, child, there is no need to be so formal. We are family after all. You may call me Grandfather.”  
Khalid still thought that was kind of formal, but didn’t argue. “Right. Thank you, Grandfather.”

Duke Riegan led them down a hallway on the second floor, and Khalid committed the layout to memory. A few servants bustled around, passing with quick, respectful bows. Their eyes glanced over Khalid just a second too long, curious and wondering. He just flashed them carefree smirks and they scurried along with heads bowed.

After a time, Duke Riegan stopped before a pair of doors on opposite sides of the hall. “These will be your rooms,” he said, glancing between his estranged family members briefly, “for as long as you choose to stay.”

“My old bedroom…” his mother muttered dryly, staring at the door to her left. With a sigh, she met her father’s gaze. “Thank you, father.” It didn’t ring sincere to Khalid’s ears, but Duke Riegan either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Refreshments are waiting for you. You must be famished after your travels. Your things will be brought up later.” He started back down the hall in his slow, shambling pace, seemingly having no further interest in spending time with his long-lost daughter for the time being. He paused, glancing back at them as if struck by an afterthought. “Dinner is as five o’clock precisely. I expect your company.” There was no room in his tone for argument.

His mother drew in a steadying breath, staring at the door as if it might attack her should it be provoked. Her eyes were a million miles away… no, perhaps not quite that far, perhaps just back in Almyra. “Mother?” he prompted lightly, slipping back into his familiar native Almyran. While he knew the Fódlan tongue fluently, it felt strange on his lips, on his tongue. Where Almyran is a loose, flowing language, the Fódlan tongue is more rigid in its structure and harsh in its pronunciations. “You doing alright?”

Her eyes snapped back to his and she schooled her expression back to one of calm and careful dignity. “Yes, of course. Come, let’s go enjoy those refreshments.” With no further fanfare, and whatever unpleasant thoughts had troubled her moments before seemingly tucked back where they were of no further concern, she opened the door and led Khalid into what had been the bedroom of her youth.  
The sconces on the wall were already lit in preparation of their arrival, casting a warm glow over the room. Everything was spotless, meticulously so. Khalid wondered how much of the décor was original and what was newly placed in anticipation of the room being put to use once again. A large, arched window stood opposite of the door, overlooking the sprawling green lawn that Khalid had only gotten a small view of from the carriage on their journey up the path. A barrage of rain still cascaded down from the heavens. The wall to the left was fixed with a sturdy bookcase that housed a modest collection, and Khalid could just make out a light trace of dust in the nooks and crannies that had been missed when the room was cleaned. A luxurious bed and an ornate wardrobe stood to the right.

His mother drank in the room with calloused eyes, her fingers roaming lightly over old knickknacks and keepsake boxes that were left behind on shelves and the top of a beautiful desk. A plate of meats, cheeses, and bread was, presumably, a new addition to the desk, along with a silver pitcher of ice water and two sparkling glasses. Khalid helped himself.

Despite the sconces, there was a chill in the air, and the skin on Khalid’s arms prickled with goosebumps. He shivered despite himself. This did not escape his mother’s attention, as eagle-eyed as ever, despite her little trip down memory lane. She smiled knowingly and moved to crouch by the unlit fireplace, her brow creasing in concentration. Her hand glowed lightly and a small fire sprung to life in the hearth. It was not often Khalid saw his mother use Reason magic, as her knowledge of it was limited in favor of Faith magic (and that, further limited by her preference to just charge in with an axe), but she looked rather proud of herself as she stood back upright and smoothed down her skirt. Khalid happily plopped down in one of the comfy armchairs that sat before the fireplace, and the two shared their snack in silence.

With their bellies full, the two watched the fire crackling gently over the dry logs in the hearth. “Khalid,” his mother said, somewhat more gently than her usual tone. He glanced over, the imprint of the fire still dancing in front of his eyes, and waited for her to continue. “I know we talked a little about this before we left, but I want you to listen and listen well. Things here…” She faltered for a moment, searching for the words. “Fódlan is very different from Almyra. Here, in the Alliance, everything is politics and enough squabbling nobles to make your head burst. There is always an ulterior motive, no matter what honeyed words someone tries to feed you. It is a game of chess, everyone always looking to get the advantage of their opponents and their allies alike.”

“I’m pretty good at chess,” Khalid joked, tone light.

His mother’s eyes took a hard edge. “This is not a joke,” she snapped. “I’m telling you this for your own good. Your grandfather wants something of you, and I have no doubt you will learn what that is soon enough. Just… please, take his words with a grain of salt, okay?”

Khalid was silent for a moment. Of course, he’d never told her that he’d overheard her conversation with his father. He didn’t have a death wish, after all. But Khalid had a pretty good idea what old Duke Riegan wanted. It had been on the forefront of Khalid’s mind for weeks. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, very seriously.

Her shoulders relaxed some, as if him not dismissing her concern out of hand had lifted a weight from them. After a moment, she spoke once more. “Though, there is one way in which Almyra and Fódlan are very similar.” He cocked his head to the side, curious. “Neither are kind to those who are different. It is unfortunate, but I fear you’ve a foot in both lands and a place in neither. For the time being, I would ask you stick to the Fódlan tongue as much as possible. You never know who might be listening.”

Khalid’s stomach twisted in knots as he considered her words. A foot in both lands, a place in neither. Sounded about right. It was nothing new, but the words coming from his mother’s lips, like the confession of some sin she had no way of atoning for struck Khalid hard. Swallowing hard, he forced an easy smile. “I can do that,” he assured her, slipping into the well-practiced Fódlan tongue. His accent, however, was unmistakable, like a brand displaying to the world that he didn't belong.

With nothing more to say, Tiana fell back into silence, staring absently at the downpour through the window. Khalid pulled himself away from the warm fire and idled through the room, feeling like some intruder peeking through forgotten relics of a history he had no claim to. From childish dolls with fading faces to the crumbling doodles of a bored teenage girl, bits and pieces of his mother’s unknown past worked their way into Khalid’s mental picture of his mother, uncertain how they all fit together.

There was not a whole lot to see however, short of rifling through her drawers and keepsake boxes – not that she likely would have scolded him for it, but it would have felt wrong to do so in front of her at very least. Instead, he settled for browsing through her small library of slightly dusty books. He picked one at random from the shelf and turned it over in his hands. Despite the dust and slight yellowing of age, it looked practically new and untouched. He ran his finger over the gold embossed title. The Harrowing Romance of House Terrence. Khalid laughed under his breath as he returned it to its spot. A romance novel, of all things. Untouched. It seemed, after a quick glance, there were quite a few unread romance novels gathering dust on the shelf. That, at least, seemed like his mother; she’d never been the type for mushy and romantic, as far as he’d been able to tell.

He eventually found something that seemed to have been read at some point, a fantasy novel about a knight going on bold and daring adventures, and settled back into the cozy armchair to read it, if only to pass the time. As they’d been told, eventually a knock on the door came and a servant bearing his mother’s luggage entered. She dismissed him curtly and set about unpacking while Khalid skimmed over the escapades of Sir Gordin.

Five o’clock grew closer and eventually Tiana sent Khalid to his own room, bidding him to change into something ‘suitable,’ whatever that meant. He did as he was asked. Before they’d left Almyra, his mother had made sure they both had ample clothing that would be passable in Fódlan. All of it was neatly folded and untouched in Khalid’s chest and he thought back to the brief lesson she’d given him on appropriate Fódlan dress. It was much stuffier and restricting than what one would wear and Almyra, but also warmer, which was definitely a plus. Though, not quite as warm as he might have hoped.

Khalid was just straightening his jacket, studying his reflection in a gilded mirror when his mother entered without the courtesy of a knock. He spun to greet her with a light smirk. “How’d I do?”  
“You look fine,” she allowed, barely taking the time to look. “It is nearly time. We should be on our way.” She fixed him with a hard look, green eyes like an unnatural and intense fire. “I expect you to be on your best behavior.” Before he could shoot back some witty retort, she cut him off. “Or, rather, the best behavior of someone much better behaved than yourself.” The jab was in equal parts serious and loving.

“I’ll be the son you’ve never had,” he assured her, rolling his eyes.

“Good.” She blinked, finally taking a proper look at him, and her eyes softened. “You look so much like your father, you know,” she muttered with a small smile, smoothing back an errant curl from his forehead before making for the door. Sometimes, his mother’s shifts in mood were liable to give him whiplash. With a small roll of his eyes, he set off after her.

They headed out, his mother waving away a servant sent to fetch them – “I know the way through my own home, thank you very much.” – and she led him easily through the elegant halls. They stepped through a large double door into what was a modest family dining room on the ground floor just as a grandfather clock chimed five notes from somewhere else in the house. Duke Riegan was already seated, hands folded in front of them, eyes staring unblinkingly out the large window. A white cloth was draped over the table, and steaming plates of food were already set out. Duke Riegan was at the head of the table, naturally, with places set on either side of him.

Khalid’s mother didn’t hesitate to take a seat to his right, and Khalid followed her lead, slipping into the seat across from her to the left. Duke Riegan finally tore his eyes away from the window, as if he’d only just noticed their arrival, and looked between the two of them. A small, pleased smile curled on his lips. “Ah, thank you for joining me.”

“How could we refuse?” Tiana asked dryly, spreading a napkin over her lap. Khalid watched her carefully, making sure to follow what she did lest he commit some sort of social faux pas and end up insulting Duke Riegan when he was supposed to be on someone else’s best behavior.

  
The Duke, without a word, closed his eyes and bowed his head. Khalid’s mother shot him a sharp look before copying, and he took that to mean he was to do the same. He was surprised when Duke Riegan started speaking, offering some sort of prayer to Fódlan’s Goddess, thanking her for providing their meal. It sounded hollow, like something done out of habit, something done because you’re supposed to. Khalid waited patiently for him to finish.

When Duke Riegan had said his piece, he picked up his fork and knife, cutting a seasoned chicken breast with careful, slow precision. Khalid moved to do the same when a sharp kick to his shin stopped him. When he met his mother’s eye, she shook her head almost imperceptibly for a moment before returning her attention to the Duke. Confused, Khalid continued to wait.

It was only once the Duke had finished his first bite that Tiana picked up her silverware and began to eat. Khalid hesitantly followed suit, and was not stopped this time. The chicken was cooked to perfection, if seasoned rather blandly. A smattering of root vegetables and tender greens accompanied the main dish. He took a sip of a burgundy liquid in the goblet in front of him. A rich, red wine that was thick on his tongue.

They ate in silence for several minutes, and Khalid tried to focus on the food instead of the tension between father and daughter. Eventually, Duke Riegan’s sharp, inquisitive eyes fell on Khalid, and he got the distinct impression of being examined like livestock for purchase.

“Your letter was rather vague,” the Duke mused between bites, eyes finally falling away from Khalid and landing on Tiana. “Have you other children you left back… home?”  
Her lips pressed tight, and she took a sip of her wine to delay offering her answer. “Only step-children from my husband’s late wife,” she said softly. “Complications at birth left me unable to bear any more.”

Duke Riegan’s face softened, and Khalid saw what he thought was the slightest hint of genuine sympathy in his eyes. “That is most unfortunate.” Silence pressed over them once more. “However,” he continued after a moment of thought, “if there is anything Godfrey’s passing has taught me, it is that we must be thankful for those that the Goddess has blessed us with rather than question her decision to take others from our arms.” Khalid barely managed to hold back an eye roll.

For a moment, Khalid didn’t think his mother would speak. Her voice was unusually small when she did. “How did he… pass?”

Duke Riegan bowed his head. “He was traveling into Goneril territory with a small troop of guards when they were waylaid by bandits. The bastards left none alive.” The silence that followed could be cut with a knife. Duke Riegan shook his head slowly with a heavy sigh. “But, come, let’s not discuss such grim matters over dinner.”

“And what would you talk about instead?” Khalid’s mother wondered, voice hollow.

He considered this for a moment before returning his attention back to Khalid. “I think I would like to learn a bit more about my grandson,” he decided, eyes scrutinizing once more. “Tell me, you seem like a strong young man. Have you much training in combat?”

Khalid smirked a little, tentative but welcoming of the lighter mood Duke Riegan was attempting to steer them toward. “Yes, sir.”

“Swords?” he guessed.

“A little,” Khalid allowed, “but the bow is my weapon of choice.”

For the first time since meeting the man earlier that afternoon, the smile he gave Khalid seemed genuine. “Is that so? A fine weapon, indeed. Though, unsurprising. Archery is in the blood of House Riegan, after all. In my youth, I was quite the marksman.” Khalid tried to picture what the man might have looked like in his youth, but was having trouble conjuring an image. Perhaps there was portrait somewhere… “I will have Sir Detrus show you the training hall later this evening, if you would like. It will do no good for your to slack on your training while you’re here.”

Khalid tipped his head respectfully. “I would like that very much. Thank you.”

With the last few bites of their meal in their stomachs, a servant came to clear their plates and serve them dessert. Khalid studied it as it was set before him, some kind of light custard in a pastry shell. As before, they waited until Duke Riegan ate his first bite before digging in themselves. It was rich, creamy, and overly sweet.

After dessert, Duke Riegan took his leave of them and they wandered back to their rooms. His mother’s shoulders slumped as they closed her door behind them, and she shot Khalid a grateful look. “Thank you,” she muttered, squeezing his hand lightly. “I will admit, I was worried how he would… react to you, but I think he’s got as positive an opinion of you as I could have hoped for.” Her eyes narrowed a little as she fixed him with a hard look. “Do try not to ruin it with that smart mouth of yours.”

Khalid laughed, putting his hands behind his head as he considered it. “I’ll see what I can do.” Obviously, Khalid wasn’t going to pretend to be someone he wasn’t forever, but if it made his mother feel better, he would keep up the act for a while longer, for her sake. The warm fire still happily crackled in the hearth, warm and pleasant. It had stopped raining, and the sky grew steadily darker as they let their stomachs settle.

As promised, Sir Detrus called on them later in the evening. Khalid changed into an outfit more suitable for training and let the knight lead him toward the aforementioned training hall. The man was tall and broad-shouldered with a gray scruff of a beard on his angular chin. He held himself with confidence and dignity. Surely, the man was strong and well-respected.

He spoke very little as he led Khalid out into the slick, muddy lawn toward a low stone building. The air was cold and thick with moisture, the smell of rain still fresh in the breeze. Khalid tried not to shiver. He would be warm soon enough, once he got started training.

The training hall was well-stocked with training weapons, targets, and practice dummies. A few guards milled about, sparring and hacking away at the straw-filled dummies without mercy. They paused when Khalid entered with Sir Detrus, eyes lingering on the boy in a mixture of curiosity and wariness. He tried his best to ignore them casually. Without a word, Sir Detrus stepped off to the side to let Khalid do his thing.

Khalid plucked a simple training bow off the rack, taking his time to string it and give it a couple practice draws. Slinging a quiver of blunt wooden arrows over his shoulder, he took his spot facing one of the targets and took aim. The arrow he loosed flew true, sticking with a dull thunk into the center of the target.

He practiced a while, letting his mind clear until his world was narrowed down to his bow, his arrow, his breath, and the target. He didn’t hear the tell-tale clop of his grandfather’s cane until the man spoke. “Impressive.”

His fingers loosed the arrow, and his surprise set it veering ever so slightly to the right of center. He sighed, lowering the bow and casting a glance back at the man. “Grandfather, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“So I noticed.” He regarded the arrows still sticking out of the bullseye. Khalid glanced around the room, surprised to see that it was now empty save for him and the old man. “Still, quite impressive. Though I am loathe to give praise to the Almyrans, it is simple fact to say their archers are second to none. You have talent.”

"Thank you,” Khalid said, dipping his head in a small bow.

The man held out his hand, and Khalid stared blankly. “May I?” the man prompted, nodding toward the bow. Slowly, Khalid handed it over, followed by the quiver. In return, the man handed over his cane. He tottered a little, and Khalid feared for a moment that he was going to keel over, but he found his footing after a moment. Pulling out an arrow, he took stance and drew back the string. His hands trembled slightly as he took aim. Letting out a breath, the arrow flew. And, much to Khalid’s surprise, four more followed it in rapid succession. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, they hit the bullseye one after the other, making an X across the small red circle.

Khalid let out a low whistle, thoroughly impressed. Duke Riegan passed the bow and quiver back, snatching the cane and leaning heavily on it once more as he regarded the target. “It seems I am a bit rusty,” he mused. Khalid stared, eyebrow cocked. “In my youth, each of those arrows would be flush with the next.” The boy didn’t even have time to process this before his grandfather was changing the subject. “Come, that’s enough training. Why don’t we take this opportunity to talk?”

Khalid blinked. “Uh… yeah, sure.” The man didn’t wait for Khalid to finish hanging the training bow and quiver back on the rack before making for the door, and he had to run a little to catch up. Thankfully, the man didn’t walk very fast.

He led Khalid to a part of the manor he’d yet to see, past more portraits, past elegant tapestries, past doors to places that would remain unknown for the time being. It seemed like forever at his grandfather’s shambling pace before they entered a door into a personal study. Bookshelves filled with large volumes lined the walls. A large, imposing desk sat before a window with its thick yellow blinds drawn shut. Khalid’s boots sank into a squishy plush rug in front of the fireplace. Over the mantle hung a portrait. A man stood, wielding what Khalid could only call the strangest bow he’d ever seen.

It was something like Khalid had never seen. The thing was a wicked looking longbow, nearly as tall as the man who wielded it. It seemed to be carved from the bones of some impossible big beast, spikes protruding from the curve of the bow itself. Set above the grip was a fist-sized red gemstone, and Khalid recognized the strange crescent moon symbol on it.

His grandfather watched him with inquisitive eyes as he studied the portait. “What’s with that bow?” Khalid wondered, wondering if something like that could possibly be a real weapon, one meant to be used in battle.

“Failnaught,” the man explained, “the Hero’s Relic passed down from Riegan himself to his descendants.”

So, it wasn’t just a prop for the portrait? “Hero’s Relic?”

“Legendary weapons that date back to the Ten Elites and their battle against Nemesis.” That rang some vague bells in Khalid’s mind, stories his mother told him before bed as a young child.

Khalid stepped closer, eyeing the gemstone more closely. It didn’t glitter like a jewel, not quite, but was smooth and polished to a glossy finish. “That symbol… what is it?”

“The Crest of Riegan.” The man stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he regarded Khalid. “Has your mother truly told you nothing of this?” Khalid shook his head. “Blessings from the Goddess herself, passed down in the blood of Fódlan’s nobility. Those who posses a Crest are granted a small measure of power. Only one with a Crest can wield a Hero’s Relic, and when the Crest of the wielder matches the Relic, they are able to perform incredible feats.”

Khalid thought about it for a moment before speaking. “What does the Crest of Riegan do?”

“Should someone with the Crest of Riegan be injured in battle, they may find the wound begin to heal itself.” Khalid swallowed down the bile that began to rise in his throat, willing the memory of the kiss of serrated steel and cruel laughter to bury itself back in the recesses of his mind where it belonged. “Of course, Crests are unpredictable. Sometimes they skip generations. If you would like, while you are here, we can have a Crest scholar come and test to see if you posses it.”

“I… uh…” It wasn’t often Khalid found himself at a loss for words.

“No need to worry,” Duke Riegan laughed, clapping his hand on Khalid’s shoulder. “It is a very simple process. I’ll send word in the morning.” Leaving no room for further discussion, he ushered Khalid out of his study and left him to find his own way back to his room, shutting the study door firmly behind the boy. Khalid stood there for a moment, confused. Why invite him to talk just to push him out the door five minutes later? Had the Hero’s Relic been the point of the conversation? The portrait a ploy to get Khalid to ask a question that led to the topic of Crests?

With a sigh and a dozen questions spilling around his brain, Khalid meandered his way back to his room. Mercifully, the fireplace had been lit in his absence. He didn’t bother returning to his mother’s room, and she didn’t bother checking on him. Instead, he crawled into the plush, oversized bed. The linens were soft and smelled of fresh soap. It was very different than his bed back home. It was very different than the beds on the ships of the past several weeks. Everything about the day had just been different.

While he laid awake, staring at the ceiling, he thought of home, wondering idly if his mother laid awake in her bed thinking of same. He missed the heat, for one thing. Fódlan was far too cold. And he missed Nader, overbearing and demanding as he often was. He missed Salma, and her kind words. And Zahra, the wyvern he’d raised since it was a hatchling. He decidedly did not miss Amir and Hassan, and he was sure the feeling was mutual. His father… eh, that one was fifty-fifty.

Slowly, Khalid began to drift to sleep, the image of the pointed crescent moon… the Crest of Riegan, etched in his mind.


	3. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid learns if he has a Crest.

Khalid was woken the next morning by the sudden appearance of bright morning sunlight in his face. He groaned, pulling the cover over his face and curling away from the offensive light. “Wake up,” his mother snapped, already attempting to tug the blanket away. “You’ve slept in long enough.” Petulant and sleepy, he tried to ignore her, shivering against the frigid air; it seemed the fire went out in the night. He could practically feel his mother’s seething glare on the back of his head. “Khalid Rashad-”

“Alright, I’m getting up,” he groaned, hastily pushing himself up. It had been a long time since his mother started breaking out his full name, but the memories of a very sore rear served as good motivation to heed the warning; Khalid may have been fifteen, but doubted something as trivial as that would stop his mother once she had her mind set. Yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as his mother busied herself relighting the fire in the hearth. “What’s the hurry, anyway?”

“My father will be expecting us for breakfast,” she said simply. She was already dressed for the day in a light dress, hair braided and pinned up. “There is little he dislikes more than laziness. Sleeping the day away is a sure way to get on his bad side.”

“Great,” he huffed, spending just a moment more to relish in the warmth of the blankets. “We’re gonna get along great.” She didn’t respond, but he could see her lips press tight. “So, what was that whole thing at dinner, where we couldn’t eat until he finished his first bite. Some kind of stupid Fódlan custom or something?”

She laughed lightly. “I’d nearly forgotten about that,” she admitted. “No, it’s not a Fódlan custom, my father just thinks a bit too highly of himself. He believes it is proper for the head of the table to begin first, and everyone else to follow after. He’s been that way since I was a child.”

With a sigh, Khalid rolled out of bed, cold air raising goosebumps on his skin. He wondered how his mother could stand to be in such light clothing after spending the past two decades in the heat of Almyra. She left him to change. He lingered by the fire for a few moments before tearing himself away long enough to get dressed.

She was waiting in the hallway when he was done, and they started toward the dining room. “So, what did the two of you talk about last night?” she wondered as they walked.

“Who? Me and Sir Detrus? He wasn’t really all that interested in talking.”

“No. You and my father.” He stared at her, unsure how she knew about that. “I know my father, Khalid.”

“Right.” He swallowed, the memories of the night before swirling back to the forefront of his mind. “He… well, he took me to his study, and we talked about a painting with some weird bow-”

“Failnaught.” Her tone was inscrutable, face unreadable.

“Yeah, that one. And he told me about- what were they called…? Crests?”

Her green eyes darkened. “Of course he did.” She bit out a harsh laugh. “He certainly isn’t wasting his time.”

“Are these Crests a big deal?” he wondered.

She was silent long enough Khalid thought she wouldn’t answer. “To many among the nobility,” she finally sighed, “they are everything. In some families, an older child born with no Crest may be passed over in favor of a younger born with one. Women with Crests are married off to curry political favor or wealth. To many, it is imperative to have an heir capable of wielding their families’ Hero’s Relic, to defend their territory.”

Khalid mulled this over for a moment. “Do you have a Crest?”

“A minor one.” He stared at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “A Crest can be major or minor,” she explained with a sigh. “A minor Crest is not as powerful, but the bearer is still able to use Heroes’ Relics.”

The more he learned, the more questions he had. He licked his lips for a second, trying to decide if he should ask the one burning hottest on his tongue. After a hasty deliberation, he decided to go for it. “Do… do I have one?”

As expected, her reaction wasn’t exactly a positive one. It wasn’t _angry_ , he decided, more than exasperated. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “There are no Crests in Almyra, and no Crest scholars to test for it.”

Khalid longed to ask more questions, but they were nearly at the dining room. He decided to shelve them for later, assuming his mother didn’t strangle him before they got to _later_. At the moment, that seemed a distinct possibility.

Duke Riegan was already eating at the table, his plate laden with eggs and breakfast meats and some kind of fluffy, warm bread. Khalid and his mother took the same seats as the night before and servants bustled forward to serve them their breakfast. Khalid dug in, realizing how hungry he was after his training the night before. One of the servants poured him a cup of dark, steaming coffee. He took a sip, relishing the sharp, bitter flavor and the heat that spread from the inside out.

“The weather is very nice today,” Duke Riegan mused, staring out the window. Outside, a crystal blue sky hung overhead, not a single cloud in sight. The emerald grass swayed in a gentle breeze, still damp from the rain. “I thought you might like to visit your brother, Tiana.”

Her hand stilled where it was cutting off a delicate bite of ham as she slowly met her father’s gaze. She swallowed thickly, posture rigid and shoulders tense. “I… Yes, father. Of course.”

“Excellent.” He gestured toward one of the servants who scurried over dutifully, and began giving orders to have horses prepared for their trip, so they may be ready to leave after breakfast. With a bow, the servant headed off to carry out the orders. Breakfast continued in silence.

After they finished eating, Khalid and his mother followed Duke Riegan out of the dining room, the servants already swarming forward to clear the table. Out front, four horses were waiting, tended by a group of young stable hands, each horse saddled. Sir Detrus met them there, bowing deeply to the Duke and courteously to Tiana. He tipped his head toward Khalid.

It dawned on Khalid slowly that the horses were, in fact, saddled, not hitched to a carriage. His mouth went dry as he watched Sir Detrus help Duke Riegan mount a large black horse. They would be _riding_ to their destination.

One of the stable boys, smiling politely, gestured Khalid toward a dappled mare. She seemed calm enough, swishing her tail lightly. Tentatively, Khalid reached out to pat her flank, pushing down a panic that started to rise in his chest.

To put it simply, Khalid did not like horses.

The others were all already mounted, waiting on him, all eyes on him. “You know how to ride, don’t you?” Sir Detrus called down to him dryly.

Khalid drew in a deep breath. “Of course.” Willing himself not to recall unpleasant memories, he mounted the horse with ease. It had been a little while since he’d been on horseback, but it was far easier than riding a wyvern, so he wasn’t too concerned. He shot a glance toward his mother, who pointedly failed to meet his eyes.

With that, the four of them took off down the lane. He tried to ignore the way each jolt and sway of the horse set his stomach rolling, the way the sound of clopping hooves rang painfully loud in his ears. Instead, he tried to focus on those around him. He was surprised how easily Duke Riegan rode his horse. The man could barely stand steady without his cane, yet he rode with the ease of a man half his age… however old that was.

The sun was well on its way along the sky by the time they passed through an iron gate into a well-tended but very old cemetery, slowing their horses to a stop and tying them up at the fence. From there, they made their way on foot past rows of headstones. Some were old and crumbling, others stood gleaming proudly in the morning sun.

They stopped before one of the gleaming ones. New grass was just beginning to sprout through the soft earth of a fresh grave. The name _Godfrey von Riegan_ was intricately etched into the stone, above the dates of his birth and death. Khalid’s mother and Duke Riegan stood before the grave, heads bowed in silent prayer. Khalid and Sir Detrus stood quietly off to the side, trying not to disturb the solemn moment shared between father and daughter.

Eventually, their prayers ended. Tiana laid her hand lightly on the top of the stone, whispering something so soft Khalid was unable to make it out over the sigh of the wind. Her eyes scanned over the rows of headstones, searching. Khalid followed her as she made her way over to another one, much older but not yet falling to the passing of time. Duke Riegan and Sir Detrus followed silently after.

The name on this one was not one that Khalid was familiar with. _Isabella von Riegan_. The date of her death was long before Khalid was born. His mother sank to the ground before the stone, fingers tracing over the letters etched there. A hand came to rest on Khalid’s shoulder, and he glanced up to see his grandfather, staring sadly down at his daughter and the stone. “My wife,” he explained softly, eyes brimming with well-contained tears. “She passed when your mother was just a young girl.”

Khalid was an outsider, he realized standing there, even among his own family. The stones around him bore the names of von Riegans of the past. People he’d never known, never loved, never even heard of. It was not a place meant for him, yet he stood there all the same. Even Sir Detrus, who was not of House Riegan blood had more of a place there than Khalid did. These were people he’d known. People he’d served and protected and probably even cared about.

 _A foot in both lands, a place in neither_.

His mother rose, face a stone mask, and they made their way back to the horses at the gate. They had come all the way from Almyra so she should could mourn her brother, and that she had done. Five days laid ahead of them before the ship that would bear them back toward Almyra came. Tiana seemed like she was counting the seconds already.

The days fell into an easy rhythm for Khalid. He spent his mornings keeping up with his training with Sir Detrus. Though the man was no where near as intense as Nader, he certainly did his best to keep Khalid on his toes. Lunch was often a solitary affair; Tiana seemed resigned to keeping herself shut away in her room as much as possible, even refusing to allow Khalid in to see her most of the time. And Duke Riegan took his lunch alone in his study. In the afternoons, Khalid took to roaming the halls of the manor, learning the names of those depicted in the portraits. On his fourth day in the manor, he discovered a small library and spent hours tucked away in an armchair, absorbing all he could learn.

Dinners were the only time he saw his mother, and she was mostly silent. Duke Riegan attempted to pry conversation out of her, but she would not budge. This left him with no one but Khalid to focus his attention on, much to the boy’s disdain. He always felt like he was being examined and interrogated when the Duke spoke with him. And he noticed very quickly that the man seemed to completely refuse to call him by his name.

After dinner, Khalid would return to his roaming or the library until the chime of the grandfather clock pulled him back to his room late in the night.

On day five, the Crest scholar came. Khalid was interrupted in his reading by servant who insisted he join Duke Riegan in his study. Obviously unable to refuse, Khalid obliged, retracing his path from his first strange night at the manor. He hesitated outside the door, hand on the knob, before thinking better of it and knocking. “Enter.”

Inside, Duke Riegan sat at his desk, and a small, studious-looking man sat across from him. “Thank you for joining us, son,” Duke Riegan croaked with a broad smile. “Please, sit.” Khalid took the empty chair, glancing back and forth between the men. “This is Andres Varton, the Crest scholar I mentioned.”

The man offered out his hand, which Khalid shook warily, before turning back toward his grandfather. “It is a pleasure to serve you, Your Grace,” the man offered earnestly.

“If it is all the same to you, Andres,” the Duke continued, “I would ask your utmost discretion in this matter. It is rather… sensitive, for the time being.”

The man smiled. “Oh, of course, of course. May we get started?” Duke Riegan made a broad gesture toward Khalid, leaning back in his chair, and Andres turned to the boy with eager eyes. He didn’t speak for a long moment, just stared, eyes darting up and down Khalid as if trying to commit him to memory. “Right,” he muttered, blinking and stooping to start rifling through his briefcase that sat at his feet. From it, he pulled out a tool of some sort, a pot filled with a grayish salve, and a smooth crystalline stone. “Now, if I could just have a bit of your blood...”

Khalid cocked an eyebrow, staring between the two men. “You’re serious?”

“Of course,” the man said simply, as if it should have been obvious. “Crests are in the blood. This stone reacts to the Crests in the blood. It won’t tell us _what_ Crest is present, but-”

Duke Riegan cleared his throat, cutting the man off. “While this is all very interesting, would you kindly get on with it?”

“Oh, right, right, of course, Your Grace. Of course.” He grabbed the strange tool and turned back toward Khalid. “Now, your hand please.” Khalid hesitated. “No need to worry, young man. It will only sting a little bit.”

Pain wasn’t exactly what Khalid hesitated for, but curiosity got the better of him and he held his hand out. The man grabbed it gently and prodded his index finger. Blood beaded on his fingertip, seemingly more than should have come from such a small prick. With steady hands, the man held Khalid’s bleeding finger over the clear stone, letting the bright blood drip for a moment before setting it to the side and smearing some of the gray salve over the wound. It sealed up almost instantly.

The three of them turned their attention back to the stone where blood was pooled on the slightly concave surface. Khalid was beginning to think nothing was going to happen as the seconds stretched on, that he didn’t have one of these strange Crests after all, when the stone started glowing.

“Excellent!” Andres exclaimed, beaming between the two of them. “Yes, you definitely possess a Crest. Of course, next we will need to figure out the type of Crest…”

Khalid cocked his head to the side. “And how do you-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his question when the door behind them burst open with a _bang_. Tiana stormed in, green eyes smoldering with barely contained fury. “I knew it,” she spat. “The second I take my eyes off him, you try and sink your claws in. How dare you!”

Andres looked like he would rather be just about anywhere else, and Khalid could relate; he couldn’t count the number of times he’d slunk out of sight after stumbling on his mother raging at his father for some reason or other. “A… alright, I-I-I’ll just be on my way, then,” he stammered, scooping his things unceremoniously back into his briefcase and fleeing for the door. "Your Grace-" Tiana slammed the door in his face.

“Calm down, dear,” Duke Riegan sighed, voice wary as if he’d been expecting this sooner or later. “Sit, let’s discuss this rationally.”

“No, father. I did not come here so you could try and steal my son from me.”

The man met her eyes evenly. “Who is stealing your son? All I’ve done is see if he’s inherited our family’s Crest. Is that really such a bad thing?”

She clamped her hands down on Khalid’s shoulders, and he winced at the strength of her grasp but didn’t dare try and pull away. “You’re a rotten liar, father. We both know the only reason you wanted me to come home was to find an heir to replace Godfrey.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do not act as though Godfrey’s death means so little to me. He was my son. I would have paid any price for him to be here right now, but he’s gone. You are all the family I have left.” He snorted, and Khalid could see where his mother got her intense angry glare from. “You were always such a difficult child. You couldn’t just be happy doing what was expected of you. No, you had to run off and elope with the enemy, sully our Riegan blood with _Almyran_.” He sighed heavily, shaking his head. He said the word ‘Almyran’ as if it was a filthy one, one not used in polite company. “But, at least he has a Crest, I suppose...”

Khalid had, admittedly, heard worse. Much, much worse. And, it wasn’t as if he’d had any delusions about his grandfather’s feelings toward him being particularly good ones – hell, the man had never even called him by his name, likely because it wasn’t a Fódlan one – but hearing the words aloud, used to hurt his mother… anger welled in his chest. His mother’s argument died on her lips as Khalid pushed to his feet, turning his back on both of them, and walking away without a word. “Khalid…” she called after him, but he ignored her. Her angry shouted words, pointed toward her father, followed him down the hall.

It was foolish to think things might have been different in Fódlan. His mother had warned him not to expect much, had warned him that there was hatred on both sides of Fódlan’s Throat. Curled up in the armchair by the fireplace in the little library, Khalid felt utterly alone.

Alone in a world that didn’t seem to want him all that much. Alone as a boy whose own family didn’t know what to do with him. Alone, an heir with a foot in two kingdoms and place in neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do Crests work? I dunno. How are Crests analyzed? Beats me. I know Hanneman has the Crest analyzer, but that seems like it's set into the floor and can't be moved, so my thought with this is that they had to use an older, more invasive test in order to do it at home. So, here we are.


	4. Fly True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: referenced child abuse
> 
> In which Khalid runs away from home.

Khalid spoke to no one over the course of the last two days of their visit. He stayed mostly in the library, servants timidly bringing him trays with his meals as he tried to read away the cloud of misery that hung over him. His mother, of course, attempted to talk to him, but he ignored her. Rather than continue bashing her head against a brick wall, she let him be.

When it came time to leave, Duke Riegan said nothing to either of them, just watched them go from the top of the stairs with a deep scowl set on his face. _Good riddance_. Sir Detrus saw them to the docks, but Tiana said barely a word to him. They boarded and set sail back the way they’d come. It was a quiet and miserable voyage.

Khalid was glad to be back in the heat of his homeland, but he avoided the rest of his family more than normal, even Salma. The anger wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace. He wasn’t even still sure _who_ exactly he was mad at. More than anything, he was mad at the world. He took to spending his days with Zahra, soaring far away from his home to a secluded clifftop that jutted out from a grove of trees, overlooking a sprawling verdant plain below. Herds of wild horses and deer dotted the grassy expanse before him. Wild wyverns stretched their wings in the sky above.

Nearly a month had passed since their return from Fódlan. Khalid leaned on Zahra in their hidden spot. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t sleep, content just to feel the world go on around him for a while.

A small creak caught his ear from the trees behind, different from that of an animal. Khalid was on his feet in an instant, bow drawn and arrow nocked. Cold fingers of fear crept down his back. A shadow shifted in the trees and he fired warning shot. It embedded in the truck of a tree with a _thunk_.

A chuckle rang out as a hand pulled the arrow from the tree. King Rashad stepped out of the shadows, spinning the arrow idly in nimble fingers, and Khalid relaxed. “If I’d come for your life, that warning shot certainly would have made me think twice about if it was worth the trouble.” Smiling as he drew near, he studied the arrowhead, curiously dabbing the flat of it with his tongue. His nose scrunched in distaste, and he spat on the ground. “Poisoned.”

“Not lethal,” Khalid admitted, returning to his spot lounging against Zahra. “Just something to stop magic from closing up the wound.”

“Clever.” His father took a seat on the ground next to him, staring out over the plain. “I remember the first time I brought you here. You nearly took a dive off the edge trying to get a better look below. I barely caught you.”

Khalid did, in fact remember that. He’d been very young, perhaps five or so, and had loved riding with his father when the man took the skies on wyvern-back. His brothers had never had any interest in flying, so it was one of the few things that gave Khalid his father’s undivided attention… or, at least, one of the _good_ things.

But those times were long past. Khalid had been coming to the hidden spot by himself since he was twelve, and the two of them hadn’t ridden a wyvern together since Khalid was big enough to fly one himself.

“Why are you here?” he asked simply, leaning back on Zahra to watch the sky.

“What? A father can’t simply spend time with his son?”

Khalid shot him a sidelong glance. “Because you do that so often?”

Rashad sighed. “Fair point.” He was silent for long moment. “You’ve been distant since you returned. Your mother and sister are worried about you.”

Khalid had figured that much out for himself, and it was part of the reason continued to avoid them. “I know,” he sighed. “I’m just… trying to figure some stuff out.”

“Did you like it?” his father wondered. “Fódlan?”

Khalid resisted the urge to snort. “It’s cold there.”

“Yes, it is, but that’s not what I asked.” His tone was sharp. He’d long since learned his son’s habit of dancing around questions he didn’t want to answer.

And it certainly was a question Khalid didn’t want to answer. Mostly, because the answer wasn’t easy. “I felt like I didn’t belong there.” His father nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t belong here, either. You and mother brought me into a world that doesn’t seem to want me in it.” He tried to swallowed down the swell of anger. “And you expect me to just live with that, to be okay with that.”

His father finally met his gaze, his amber eyes intense, but calm. Khalid was very suddenly reminded of his mother’s words, how he looked like his father. His father, with a mess of dark curls, some strands braided; a strong jaw line with a well-groomed beard; and sharp, knowing eyes that seemed to pierce right through Khalid.

Rashad held the silence for a long moment. “Live with it, yes,” he mused. “Be okay with it? That’s up to you.” Khalid’s brow furrowed as he chewed over these words. “You can’t help the lot you’re dealt in life, but you can work with it. I know I’ve never been the best father to you, but I would like to think that, if nothing else, I’ve helped make you strong.”

Khalid resisted the urge to make some smart retort. Times when his father spoke with him openly were far and few between, and that alone held his tongue. Khalid licked his parched lips, scrounging for words. “Why does everyone have to hate each other just because there’s a boarder between us? I just… I wish everyone could get along.”

Laughter boomed around him, genuine laughter. Khalid glared at his father, unsure what about his statement had been funny. “Son, you can wish in one hand, and shit in the other. See which one fills up faster.” Seeing that his son wasn’t amused, he continued. “Look, things don’t just change because you want them to. Especially not people. You have to _make_ things change.”

“Right,” Khalid muttered, shoulders drooping. “Let me just get right on that.”

Rashad’s gaze returned to the plain, eyes far away. “Has your mother ever told you the story of how we met?” Khalid shook his head. “Right. Well, I’ve told you of Aisha, that she passed shortly after Amir and Hassan were born. Back before I was king. I was convinced, at the time, I would never love again. After losing her, I practically threw my self on the front lines. It was reckless. I had three young children to care for, after all. But I was a foolish young man, and I thought I could fill the hole with war.

“Before I knew it, a year passed, and I was commanding an army at Fódlan’s Throat. A troop of my men got sloppy and was spotted by a passing patrol of Alliance soldiers. Among them, was a young Tiana von Riegan, sent by her father to meet with Duke Goneril. She wasn’t supposed to be a part of the fighting to begin with, yet she managed to get injured. In the chaos, she was separated from the Alliance soldiers, and found herself lost in the mountains.

“I happened to have been out hunting not far from where the scrimmage had happened, and I saw her staggering through the trees, bleeding and barely conscious. That didn’t stop her from trying to cut my damn head off when she realized I was an Almyran soldier.” He laughed, light and nostalgic. “Still have the scar on my shoulder from her axe. Somehow, I managed to convince her I wasn’t going to hurt her, despite the fact my Fódlan was shit back then – well, it still is, but that’s beside the point. I don’t know why, but something compelled me to want to help her. Even though capturing a Fódlan noble would have been a huge victory, I wanted to protect her. There was just one little problem.”

“Let me guess,” Khalid mused. “If you took her back to the Alliance front, you would have been killed on sight. But if you took her back to your war camp, _s_ _he_ would have been killed.”

“Exactly. In the end, I managed to find a cave for her to hide in while her wounds healed. She was even worse at white magic back then, so it took her a while to heal herself enough to get back on her feet. I nursed her back to health, brought her food and water, kept her company. Somewhere along the way, we fell for each other.

“Once she was better, I helped her find her way back to the Alliance front. We made a promise to meet in that cave every other moon, a secret rendezvous. And we kept every date. But, after about a year of our meetings, she came to me crying. Her father had arranged her marriage to a man she didn’t love. In two moons’ time, she would be married, and that would be the end of that.

“I proposed to her on the spot. And she accepted. I would have gladly taken her back with me right then and there, and cut down any man who dared try and stop me, but she insisted she had some things to tie up at home before she could go. She made arrangements to come by sea, and I told my family that I would be taking a new bride. Shortly after we married, I became king. Two years later, you were born.”

Khalid was silent for a moment, expecting more to the story. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked dryly when he realized his father had finished.

“It’s never been an easy life for your mother here. There’s never been a Fódlan-born woman on the throne of Almyra before, and I made a lot of enemies by changing that.” He sighed wearily. “My point is, if you don’t like the way things are now, its on you to change them.”

Khalid ran a hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure it’s easier to cross a boarder and elope than it is to undo hundreds of years of warfare and prejudice.”

“Did I say it would be easy?” he snapped, sounding more like the father Khalid was familiar with. “But a rare opportunity has presented itself to you. You bear the Crest of your mother’s family, a family with no other heirs to turn to. Consider how much pull the Alliance’s sovereign duke has. Should the sovereign duke be inclined to pursue the possibility of peace between the Alliance and Almyra...”

Khalid blinked. Suddenly, the thought of peace between the two kingdoms didn’t seem so impossible. Sure, peace was a far cry from acceptance, but would be a step in the right direction. For the first time since his mother received that letter, Khalid dared to let the little spark of hope grow in his stomach. Until suspicion set in, and he stared at his father with narrowed eyes. “You’re not just saying this so you can get rid of me, are you?”

Rashad laughed again, clapping his son roughly on the shoulder. “If I _really_ wanted you gone, I would have had plenty of times to get rid of you before now.”

“That’s… comforting,” Khalid muttered dryly.

His father pushed himself to his feet. “Think about it,” was all he said before disappearing back into the trees. As if Khalid would do anything _but_ think about it.

~OoO~

Khalid woke with a start early the next morning, unsure what had woken him. The sun had yet to rise, though the sky was painted a deep periwinkle. After scanning the dark room, hand tightening around the hilt of the dagger he kept under his pillow, nothing seemed out of place. No shadows shifted, no scuff of shoes on the floor caught his ear. He nearly rolled over and went back to sleep when a soft glint of silver caught his eye, reflecting off a candle he knew he hadn’t left lit the night before.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pushed himself up to investigate. A parcel wrapped in silk sat on his bedside table, a small scroll placed atop it. He grabbed the scroll and found the source of the silver glint; the note was rolled through a small, very familiar hoop earring. It was an earring his father had worn as long as Khalid could remember. Palming the ring, he unrolled the note, angling it toward the flicker of candle light.

_We both know the choice you intend to make._ _Nader will take you to the boarder. The earring and the parcel are my gifts to you. Until next we meet._

Khalid stared at the ring in his hand. The gift of an item of sentimental value to the giver was not to be taken lightly. With a shaking hand, he worked the ring into the piercing in his left ear, the way his father had always worn it.

He turned to the parcel and unwrapped the silk slowly. A beautiful, antique quiver sat in his lap. He ran his fingers over the well-crafted wyvern-hide leather, turning it slowly in his hands. On the other side, writing was etched into the material, inlaid with delicate gold. An Almyran blessing. _Fly true_. How appropriate.

Somehow, his father had known his decision before Khalid had made it. Yet, with the quiver in his hands and the earring in his ear, he knew it was the right call. He had to move quickly. Soon, the servants would be waking up. If his mother found out what he was doing… he shuddered at the thought.

His heart pounded in his chest as he dressed quickly and packed what clothes he could into a small knapsack. If Nader was waiting, he would already have supplies for their trip. Khalid made his way through the halls of his home with silent footsteps, wondering how long it would be before he would return.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a soft voice called his name. “Khalid… you’re leaving, aren’t you?” He spun around and saw Salma, peering out her bedroom door. Her silky black hair was tousled from sleep, and her eyelids drooped over her soft brown eyes. “I overheard father talking to Nader last night. I tried to wait up for you… I didn’t want you to leave without getting to say goodbye.”

Khalid glanced over his shoulder. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

She shook her head, stepping out into the hall with bare feet. She was taller than him still, but just barely. As children, the seven years that separated them seemed to be an insurmountable gap, but as she stood before him with her brow creased in worry, she looked so small and young. “I know why you have to go,” she sighed, sweeping his unruly curls away from his forehead in the doting way she always had, “and I know you’re not happy here, but I really wish you didn’t have to go. I’ll miss you.” Her slender fingers started working the long strands of hair in front of his right ear into a braid.

“I’ll miss you, too, Salma.”

“You’ll come back, won’t you?”

He tried to smile reassuringly. “Some day, I promise.”

She nodded, content, winding a small piece of ribbon plucked from her nightgown into the braid to keep it in place. “Much better,” she mused, mussing his hair. “I’ll make sure Amir and Hassan don’t pilfer all your things while you’re gone. Maybe _accidentally_ slip them one of those funny concoctions you like to make, just to keep things interesting.”

Khalid blinked back tears that stung at the corners of his eyes and wrapped his sister in a hug. She hugged back, and for a moment, he thought she might not let go. But, in the end, she did. She slipped back toward her bedroom door. “See you soon, Khalid.”

“See you soon, Salma.” The door closed with a soft _click_ , and Khalid made his way to the stable where Nader was waiting with two wyverns at the ready.

Flying was a silent affair. Holding any sort of conversation beyond a few shouted directions would be impossible of the rush of wind ringing in ones ears. Nader flew just ahead of Khalid on his fearsome black wyvern, Lamie, streaking his way across the rapidly brightening sky. With no way to talk, Khalid was left with too much time to think.

After the adrenaline of running away worked its way out of his body, he found himself left with just uncertainty and nerves. Two things that he rarely allowed himself to dwell on. Over the years, Khalid had gotten good at thinking on his feet, keeping himself a step ahead of everyone else. He could talk circles around his brothers, making them forget their attempts to bully and torment him and focus on squabbling with each other instead. He could avoid would-be assailants – or dispatch them, if necessary.

But, armed with nothing but a half-cocked dream and barely a vague idea of how to get there, Khalid could feel himself slipping into the cold wave of anxiety. The harder he tried to pull away from it, the more he started to sink in. With the anxiety came the memories. Memories of rough hands holding him tight in place, covering his mouth so he couldn’t scream; the wicked gleam of a jagged knife, drawing slowly closer; pain. Blood. Death, somehow not his own.

“Kid!” he heard Nader’s voice cut over the roar of the wind, pulling him away from his thoughts. Nader glared over his shoulder. “Get your head out of your ass, would you? We’re landing in that clearing.” Without another word, he guided his wyvern down toward the ground without waiting to see if Khalid was following. With a sigh, shaking his head wearily, he started his descent.

They landed in a clearing in the midst of one of the few sparse forests that started to dot the Almyran countryside the farther west one went, the closer to the mountains of Fódlan’s Throat one got. A crystal blue pond sat under the dappled sunlight at the edge of clearing, fed by a bubbling little stream. Birds chirped brightly, and Khalid could faintly make out the chitter of young wyverns in the distance. As soon as Khalid and Nader dismounted, their wyverns stretched and bounded to lap at the cool water, rumbling contentedly in the backs of their throats.

Khalid stooped to take a long drink himself, ignoring Nader’s frustrated grumbles at the boy’s aforementioned assheadery. Zahra and Lamie chittered and snickered happily as they snapped at small fish, the crunch of small bones cutting over the otherwise peaceful sounds of nature around them. Khalid smiled faintly, digging a bag of trail rations out of Zahra’s saddle bag and picking through for something to munch on.

Nader had fallen silent, staring down at Khalid as the boy tried his best not to notice. “You’re nervous,” he noted, sinking down across from Khalid. “You always start thinking about that day when you’re nervous.”

Khalid raised an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of dried meat. “And how would you know what I was thinking about?”

“You get that look in your eyes.” Khalid looked down, his stomach rolling. Zahra curled up next to him, eyes bright as she begged for scraps of dried meat and strips of preserved fruit; he indulged her, no longer as hungry as he had been a moment before. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He could still feel Nader’s eyes on him. “Alright, suit yourself,” the man decided, silent for a moment before changing the subject. “Your old man certainly gave you some interesting parting gifts.”

“Yeah.” Khalid thumbed the earring idly, the silver beads clinking lightly together.

“Do you know what they are?” The boy shook his head. “The quiver is an heirloom from your… five times great-grandfather, I think?”

“King Faisal,” Khalid supplied lamely, busying himself by scratching Zahra under the chin in soft gap between the plates of her scales. She cooed, leaning into his touch, her rear leg kicking like an overgrown puppy.

“Right, that one. Before he ascended the throne, he slayed a wild wyvern that was terrorizing a small village. The beast was, if the stories are to be believed, a big son-of-a-bitch. Twice the size of the average adult male, they say.” Khalid had already heard this story, of course, though he’d never heard anything about the quiver before. “Old Faisal strolled in, calm as anything, and took the thing out like it was nothing. He had the quiver commissioned from its hide, and his victory is thought to be a deciding factor in his father granting him the crown over his brothers.”

“Fascinating,” Khalid muttered. Really, it was interesting, and normally he would be all over learning whatever history he could, but he found himself not quite in the mood for it.

“The quiver’s been passed down father to son since then. Only once has it been passed down to a son who didn’t end up inheriting the crown, your great-uncle Amir.”

Khalid blinked. “I have a great-uncle Amir?”

“Not anymore,” Nader laughed. “He fell in battle on the boarder when your father was a boy, and the quiver went back to your grandfather, who in turn passed it down to your father.”

“So, it’s cursed to either stay in the royal family or kill the owner until it gets back to the king.”

Nader boomed out a laugh. “I think you’re reading too much into it, kid.”

“You said ‘interesting gifts,’ plural,” Khalid noted. “What’s with the earring?”

Nader’s face grew very serious, surprising Khalid. The man was jovial to a fault, never far from a laugh or dumb joke. “It’s a talisman,” he explained, surprising Khalid. His father had never been a superstitious man. That he would hold on to a talisman, a blessing of luck or protection, for as long as Khalid could remember, stuck him. It was believed that a talisman would always find its way into the hands of the person who needed it most – by the holder gifting it away, losing it, or even having it stolen. “It was the last gift my sister gave him before she passed.”

A knot formed in Khalid’s stomach as he thought about what that meant. “What’s it supposed to do?” he wondered, voice unusually small.

“The blessing is meant to keep the weight of grief and sorrow off the shoulders of the wearer until they’re able to bear it alone.” Khalid stared at his lap. His father had worn it so long, to hand it over to Khalid… did he truly think Khalid needed it more? Nader’s laugh pulled him from his thoughts, not as boisterous as was typical, but comforting nonetheless. “Those insufferable nephews of mine are going to piss themselves when they learn he gave those gifts to you instead of them.”

Khalid rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, Amir and Hassan can go eat a dick.” The man’s moment of melancholy passed, Nader boomed out another laugh. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Nader was Salma, Amir, and Hassan’s uncle, but not Khalid’s. In fact, Khalid hadn’t known the man _wasn’t_ family until he was seven, when Amir had rubbed it in his face – while literally rubbing his face into the mud as Hassan held his legs so he couldn’t worm away. Thought Nader clearly didn’t mind the boy calling him Uncle, the damage had been done, and he’d never been able to bring himself to do it again.

“You ready to tell me what’s got you so worked up?” Nader prompted.

Khalid sighed. He should have guessed Nader wasn’t going to just drop it; he never did. After a long moment, Khalid voiced the thoughts he’d refused to let himself think. “They’re awfully nice gifts, considering he only wanted me to go so he could be rid of me.” Sure, his father had joked that it wasn’t the case, but Khalid wasn’t stupid.

“Rashad cares more than you think,” Nader dismissed. “You don’t have the luxury of being full-Almyran like your siblings. If he wasn’t so tough on you, I don’t think you’d have survived half this long.” Khalid stared at him, not convinced. “Sometimes fathers are like that, you know. I swear, my old man walloped me just about every other day.”

“Did your father ever tie you to a horse and drag you behind as punishment?” Khalid asked dryly. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t _all_ his father; his mother had just stood by and watched, laughing like it was perfectly normal and not completely fucked up.

Nader’s laugh died in his throat. He scrubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, as he always did when Khalid talked him into a corner. “Ah, no… I know, that’s kinda messed up-”

“Kinda,” Khalid scoffed.

Nader sighed. “Look, kid, no one ever accused him of being a good father.” Khalid wasn’t sure what Nader’s point was, and he was pretty confidant that Nader didn’t really know either, as the man’s worded trailed off. An uncomfortable moment passed before Nader pushed himself to his feet. “We’re wasting daylight, and we’ve still got a long way to go. Let’s get a move on.”

With that cheerful, relaxing conversation rolling around his mind, Khalid mounted Zahra and they took to the sky once more.

~OoO~

**Fifteen Years Earlier**

The screams, Rashad knew, would haunt him as long as he lived. As he sat with the small, swaddled newborn cradled in his arms, he tried not to dwell on the memory of her screams. He tried not to think of the crimson blood pooling under her as he was ushered away, healers swarming around her, their hands already aglow with Faith magic. He tried not to think of the pallor of Aisha’s skin, five years before, as the infection slowly drained her life away mere months after the birth of the twins.

He held the baby closer.

A boy. Tiana would be ecstatic; she’d been hoping for a boy. _He’ll look just like his father_ , she’d mused with that coy smile, rubbing her swollen belly softly. She’d spent days trying to pick a name. It had to be perfect, she’d insisted.

Soft brown eyes blinked up at him over the arm of the chair as Salma studied her new baby brother with curiosity. Behind her, Amir and Hassan stared from behind Nader’s legs. Rashad hadn’t heard them come in. He sighed, trying to smooth his face into a calm expression. “Come, children. Meet your brother.”

They gathered around, staring at the bundle in his arms intently. Salma’s eyes sparkled. Amir and Hassan cocked their heads to the side, uncertain. “What’s his name, Baba?” Salma wondered.

“Khalid.”

She smiled down at the scrunchy pink face that peaked out of the swaddle. “Hi, Khalid. I’m Salma.” She smiled brightly, so much like her mother that it hurt. “Baba, can I hold him? Pretty please?”

Rashad smiled. She’d been unable to hold Amir and Hassan when they were born, as she’d only been three, much too small. But, he decided, seven was plenty old enough. He passed Khalid over to the wet nurse for a moment and scooped Salma into his lap. “See how she’s holding him?” he asked, moving her arms to a semblance of the correct position, supported by his own. “You must be very careful. A newborn’s neck is very weak, and they can’t hold up their heads on their own.” She nodded earnestly.

The wet nurse placed the bundle gently into their arms. Salma focused intently on cradling her brother. “He’s so warm,” she muttered in awe. “And so tiny. Baba, I love him.”

Rashad smiled, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Amir and Hassan watched, quickly growing disinterested. “Does it _do_ anything?” Amir asked, prodding the baby’s head with a meaty finger.

“Amir-” Rashad started to scold, but Salma beat him to the punch with a sharp kick to his shin. “Leave him alone,” she hissed. “He’s just a _baby_ , dummy.”

Amir scowled at her, rubbing his sore leg. “This is boring,” he huffed. “Come on, Hassan. Let’s go play.” They rushed out of the room to go be someone else’s problem, Nader following after them with a sigh, and Salma returned her attention back on Khalid.

They sat in silence, holding the boy together for a while. “Can I see Tia soon, Baba?”

“Tia is very tired, love,” he managed with a thick voice. “The doctor said she has to sleep for a while. We have to take very good care of Khalid while she sleeps, and you can see her once she feels better.”

Salma was quiet for a while. “She’s not gonna have to go be with Mama, is she?”

Rashad’s heart beat painfully in his chest. “No, love, she’s going to stay with us for a long time.”

“Good. I love Tia, I don’t want her to go.”

“Me neither.”

And, while uncertainty pressed on Rashad’s chest like a vice, he let himself sink into the first moment of peace he’d had in days.


	5. Fódlan’s Throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid crossed the border into Fodlan.

Fódlan’s Throat rose before them steadily over the next two days. Their path took them north of Fódlan’s Locket, the immense fortress that sat nestled in what would have been a natural pass through the mountain range. Smaller fortresses were set evenly across the length of the Throat, more as a precaution rather than out of necessity. The mountains were treacherous, unforgiving to anyone who didn’t know them.

They steered clear of the Almyran fort that sat near the base of the mountains, setting camp in a forest clearing well away from the patrols that regularly swept through. By the time they landed, a smattering of stars were already spreading across the cobalt sky. Khalid had never seen the mountains so close, and found himself rather awed by their sheer size. Away from the boarder, Almyra was incredibly flat. The mountains stood like giant earthen fingers reaching for the heavens, so close they could _almost_ reach.

“So,” Khalid wondered, busying himself starting a fire from some kindling he’d collected, “how exactly are we supposed to cross the boarder?”

“The Alliance soldiers have all the easy routes blocked, unfortunately,” Nader explained. “And going through off path would be suicide. That limits our options, but it’s doable.” The man rummaged for a moment through his bag, pulling out a map and unrolling it on the ground between them. “The Alliance forts are spread to cover as much ground as possible, but it would be next impossible to cover every single path through the mountains.” He drew a line with his finger over the map.

“It’s not an easy pass to traverse,” he continued, “and because of that, it’s not heavily guarded. It’s also the fastest way through. It’ll be rough, and at the end, you’re going to have to sneak past some soldiers, but you’re sneaky enough, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. After that, you’ll be on your own. I’m only going as far as the boarder.”

Khalid nodded, studying the map and pretending the idea didn’t both excite and terrify him. He loved getting to do sneaky things, but the stakes had never been quite so high. Sneaking into the kitchen to pilfer cookies at the risk of getting caught by the stern cook and paddled with her wooden spoon was paltry compared to sneaking into a _country_. If he was caught… He’d heard the stories of Almyrans caught at the boarder getting captured and forced into service in noble houses.

“Scared?” Nader wondered, rolling the map up and stowing it away once again.

Khalid scoffed. “Hardly.” He hoped it sounded convincing, and based on Nader’s grin, he was reasonably sure it was. Nader let the subject drop, getting busy unbinding their bedrolls from Lamie’s saddle. Khalid’s stomach rumbled. They’d been living off trail rations, dried meat and fruit, and stale bread since they’d left.

Khalid grabbed his bow and quiver. “I’m going to go see if I can get some fresh meat,” he decided.

“Be careful, kid.”

He grinned. “Always am.” With that, he headed into the forest. It wasn’t yet so dark that he couldn’t see. He’d have maybe half an hour to hunt before he’d have to return. He tread carefully through the thin underbrush, steps light and silent. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead. The forest was rich with the sounds of crickets humming underfoot and owls hooting in the distance.

He walked for a while, enjoying the calming thrum of nature before he found a low, gnarled tree that would serve well as a perch. Slinging his bow over his back, Khalid scrambled up, hands scraping against the rough, weather-worn bark, feet finding purchase on small knots and low branches.

As he settled into the cradle of the branches, he focused on the ground below and let his mind wander. Once upon a time, his father had said he may as well have been part squirrel, if his proficiency in scampering up trees was anything to go by. As a boy, he and his brothers often went on hunting trips with their father, more for the sport of it than the need for food. Amir and Hassan often had no patience for it, loud and clumsy and bored of sitting around waiting for prey to wander by. Khalid had found himself right at home in the forest. The quiet moments, perched in the branches of a tree with his bow ready were some of the few times Khalid found his overactive mind stilled.

Well, until that day… When Amir and Hassan thought it would be _so_ funny to abandon him in the woods. Of course, it wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t known… Khalid closed his eyes against the memories. That cruel laugh seemed to whisper through the trees, the smell of blood on the wind’s breath all around him.

He almost missed the small _snap_ of a twig that signified a passing animal. Body acting on instinct, Khalid nocked an arrow and took aim. Below, a guinea fowl slunk through the brush, ruffling its feathers and pecking at the ground. It squawked only once as the arrow pierced it through the eye, crumbling to the ground and falling still. With a sigh, Khalid dropped down to retrieve his bounty.

Khalid crouched to the ground and pulled out the bulky utility knife sheathed at his hip. It was a simple matter to strip, gut, and clean the bird; it was best done away from camp, lest the smell of blood attract vermin or predators in the night. With that done, Khalid made his way back, weary of hunting and hand sticky with blood.

The last of the light was fading from the sky, and the glow of the warm camp fire was inviting. Nader barely spared him a glance as he stepped into the clearing. “Not bad, kid. Give it here. You did the work, I’ll cook.”

Khalid passed over the bird without a word, happy to have the thing out of his hands. He stared down at them for a moment; the red stains set his stomach rolling. While Nader cut up the meat, Khalid stooped by the small stream that passed through the edge of the clearing to clean his hands. Even when all the blood was gone, he could still feel it sticking to his skin.

 _Get a grip_ , he scolded the irrational part of his brain that liked to dwell on the past, scrubbing his hands raw in the frigid water. _It’s been_ _six_ _years._ The irrational part of his brain would have shot him a very rude hand gesture, if it had hands.

The smell of cooking meat drew him back to the fire. Nader whistled lightly as he turned the hunks of fresh poultry that he’d skewered on a sturdy stick. The wyverns chowed happily on the bones and bits of raw meat Nader had deemed unworthy of being cooked. Khalid leaned back in the dirt, pillowing his head on his arms. Small wisps of dark clouds drifted over the stars and the pale half-moon. In the dark, the mountains seemed even more foreboding, thick fog clinging around the peaks reflected in the monochrome moonlight.

He was pulled out of his drifting thoughts by a meat skewer in his face. Grabbing it with a sigh, Khalid pushed himself up and took a bite. Guinea fowl was fatty and greasy. This particular one was also unseasoned and a touch overcooked. It didn’t go down easy, but Khalid couldn’t complain. It was better than anything else they’d been eating up to that point.

Nader didn’t try to talk to Khalid, which he was grateful for. He didn’t think he could stomach another heart-to-heart like the one they’d had the first day of their journey. After eating, Khalid settled into his bedroll next to Zahra, who was already snoring softly after her feast of bones and meat scraps. Thankful for his uncanny ability to sleep just about anywhere, Khalid drifted off into a light, dreamless sleep.

~OoO~

**S** **ix** **Years Earlier**

Nader picked his way through the forest on horseback, following the trail of blood; a drop on the brush here, a smear on a tree trunk there like grotesque breadcrumbs. He gritted his teeth against the image of the boy, his scrawny body coated in the stuff, emerald eyes wide with fear and red with tears. He’d gripped the knife so hard his little knuckles were white, hands trembling.

It wasn’t time to think about that. He had to focus on his trail of bloody breadcrumbs. It seemed to wind aimlessly through the forest, confused and meandering. The smell of blood was overwhelming when he reached the trail’s end, and he hopped down off his horse to get a closer look at the scene before him.

Crows were already busy picking at the corpse. They regarded him coldly as he drew near, offering angry squawks before retreating for the branches of a nearby tree. The man’s body laid in a puddle of his own blood, all stemming from his single wound: an arrow driven deep through his left eye. The right stared unseeingly into the distance. More arrows were scattered around him, spilling from an abandoned quiver. A broken bow laid near his feet.

“Gods, kid,” Nader muttered, rubbing the back of his neck roughly. With a sigh, he mounted his horse once more. There had been two, the kid had managed to say through sobs and retches. One dead, the other run off gods only knew where. He spurred his horse on. There was no trail to follow to this other man, but he had to try. He owed the kid that much.

~OoO~

After a quick breakfast of stale bread and trail rations, Khalid and Nader flew low over the forest canopy the next morning. It wouldn’t do to be spotted, by either Alliance or Almyran soldiers. It was just a few hours to the base of the mountains. Nader led the way to a narrow path through a dense part of the forest. By the time they reached it, the hot morning sun had already burned off the mist.

From there, flying would be a sure-fire way to get them spotted. The rest of the way through the mountains would have to be on the ground. Wyverns weren’t the fastest on their legs, lumbering awkwardly on their hind legs with their clawed wings for support. It was slow going. Zahra grumbled indignantly at the cruel treatment of being forced to _walk_. He laughed at her pouting, promising to make it up to her later.

It was a long, slow walk. The path was rough and uneven, recklessly winding its way through the pass. At points, the path was just about six feet of ledge with the sheer mountainside looming over them to the left, and treacherous plummet to the right. Khalid pitied anyone who attempted to cross the pass who happened to be afraid of heights – and who didn’t happen to be on wyvern-back.

They stopped at midday to eat. The wyverns panted; they weren’t used to making such long journeys on foot, and the lack of water didn’t help. They would be fine, though. Wyverns thrived even in the desert, where water was scarce. A wyvern could go almost a week without water, and months with just the amount a human needed to survive.

Eventually, the path started descending. The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time the tops of the trees on the Fódlan side of the mountains came into view. “We’re nearly at the roadblock,” Nader said, very serious, bringing Lamie to a stop. “This is as far as I go. The rest is on you.” Khalid nodded soberly. “We’ll stay here until dark. Once you have the cover of night, you’ll fly down into the ravine and head straight toward the forest. Be careful; guards patrol the forest at all hours. Think you can manage it?”

“I’ll be fine,” Khalid managed, sounding a lot more confidant than he felt. Nader held his gaze for a moment before turning to dig through his saddle bag and offering Khalid what he pulled out.

“A map of the Alliance, and a compass.” Khalid unrolled the map, and was pleased to see it was incredibly detailed. “I marked where we’re at already. Derdriu is due west. Once you’re through the forest, you’ll hit a road that will take you straight there.”

“How do you know about all of this?” Khalid wondered, stowing the map and compass away in his own saddlebag. “This pass, the roadblock, the guards.”

Nader laughed. “This isn’t my first time crossing the boarder, kid.” He offered no further explanation, and Khalid didn’t push for one.

Instead, they idled away the time with a card game, how they’d spent most of their evenings since leaving. Khalid had always been good at cards and Nader would huff and call Khalid a ‘fucking card shark’ every time the man lost, as if he’d forgotten it had been he who taught the boy to play in the first place, many years ago.

Eventually, the cover of night fell over them. Nader scooped up the cards haphazardly, and stood. “It’s time. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Khalid sighed, pushing himself up, trying to pretend his stomach wasn’t attempting to tie itself into intricate knots.

Nader put a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, staring at him for a long moment. “Good luck, kid.”

“Thanks, Nader.”

“Look, if you ever need anything, send a letter. Whatever you need.”

Khalid swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Nader pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, one that made Khalid sputter for breath. “Good luck,” he repeated before dropping Khalid back onto his feet. “Now, get going.”

With a nod, both of them mounted their wyverns. Khalid spared Nader one last look before spurring Zahra forward. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest as the ground fell away, gliding slowly down in the ravine.

Khalid shot a glance over his shoulder. If Nader was still on the ledge, watching him, he was swallowed by darkness. Khalid was on his own. Zahra landed silently at the bottom, just at the edge of the forest. Khalid pressed himself low against her back, ears perked for any sound coming from the trees. Nothing caught his ear, and her urged her forward, slowly.

Every snap of twigs and brush of leaves under her feet might as well have been the toll of a bell. Any minute, he expected soldiers to rush from the shadows, weapons drawn, ready to capture the invader. None came, and they pressed on at a delicate pace.

Khalid’s stomach dropped when the flicker of torchlight caught his eye off in the distance. He guided Zahra away to give them a wide breadth. If he strained, he could even hear the lilt of soft voices, the occasional low laugh.

A river cutting through the forest forced Khalid to stay closer to the soldiers than he would have liked. He didn’t dare attempt to cross it; there wasn’t enough room for Zahra to spread her wings without disturbing the brush, and he couldn’t risk drawing their attention as she splashed her way across. Instead, they followed it, walking parallel to soldiers.

They were so close, Khalid could make out some of their words. It seemed they were making fun of their commanding officer. Khalid and Zahra moved at a snail’s pace, and it seemed like they would manage to pass undetected.

Until a large branch cracked under Zahra’s foot. The men’s conversation cut off, and Khalid brought Zahra to a stop. “Who’s there?” one of the men called. Khalid’s mind raced. The torchlight started growing closer, and Khalid could hear the soft _shink_ of swords being drawn from their sheaths.

“ _Coo-ruhh_ ,” Khalid chirped, mimicking the cry of a wyvern. It was nearly summer. Mother wyverns would be tending to their babies in nests. It would be stupid for two men to disturb a wyvern’s nest on their own, though the mothers would only attack if provoked. “ _Krrrugh_.” A warning sound. Zahra chittered lightly for emphasis, like the soft sounds of a hatchling.

The torchlight froze in place, only about a hundred feet away. “Shit,” one of the men hissed. “I thought we’d cleared out all they wyvern nests.”

“Well, let’s leave it for the morning shift to worry about,” the other man decided. “I’m not a bloody hero, I’m not losing my leg to a fucking wyvern.”

With that, the men retreated, laughing and joking lightly once more as their torchlight grew more and more faint. He waited until it was just a soft dot of light drifting between the trees before daring to move once more.

They spent the better part of the night picking their way through the forest, dodging around flickers of torchlight as they passed by. The sky was beginning to brighten by the time they broke through the tree line. As Nader had promised, an old cobblestone road greeted them on the other side.

With the adrenaline that coursed through his veins, Khalid was too wound up to even think about sleeping. There was still a couple days’ travel ahead of them to Derdriu. Zahra only complained a little bit at not getting a break, but after stopping at a small stream that bubbled along the road, she seemed to be in better spirits. After checking the map and compass, Khalid pressed on along the road, well and truly leaving Almyra behind him.


	6. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid makes his way toward Derdriu.

Khalid and Zahra followed the road, flying just a few feet over the ground. It would be a few days, even on wyvern back, before they would reach Derdriu. They passed people on the road, of course. Merchants with carts full of wares, farmers with produce bound for the market. They would glance up at him with small nods, brows drawn slightly. Wyverns weren’t an uncommon sight in Fódlan, but they were typically war mounts, not used for general travel like they were in Almyra. It wasn’t _so_ out of place it caused alarm, but it definitely drew eyes.

Along the way, Khalid found himself wondering what the hell he was going to say to his grandfather when he actually got there. They hadn’t exactly parted amicably. He was confidant that the man wouldn’t turn him away – he was too desperate for an heir for that – but it was definitely going to be rough, no matter _what_ Khalid said. But just showing up on his doorstep, dirty and famished from almost two weeks of travel… rough was putting it a little lightly.

After having the time to calm down and think about what had happened during their visit, Khalid couldn’t help but compare how his grandfather acted versus how his grandmother in Almyra had always treated him.

Rashad had always been Nana Uzma’s favorite son, a fact she hardly seemed to hide from her other children. And, from what Nader had told Khalid, she simply adored Aisha. Needless to say, Nana Uzma hadn’t been too happy when her beloved son, the obvious choice to inherit the throne from his ailing father, brought home a Fódlan bride. A very blunt woman, Nana made no attempt to hide her disdain toward her new daughter-in-law.

While Rashad fiercely defended his wife from his mother’s scorn, Khalid was always told to deal with his hardships on his own. He grew up watching his siblings being spoiled with fancy toys – which, to a small child, is kind of a big deal – whenever Nana visited, Khalid got things like a ball-in-a-cup or a hoop-and-stick. She would sneer at him and mutter insults when they were alone, mutt being her favorite, and give Amir and Hassan treats when they picked on him. She passed two years prior, and Khalid was secretly somewhat relieved, though guilt chewed at his belly for months afterward for feeling that way.

But, if nothing else, she was honest. His grandfather had hidden behind a false smile while inwardly cringing at the sound of Khalid’s accent, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the boy’s tan skin. Nana wore her hatred openly on her sleeve. The old man had wrapped his in fake acceptance.

But, it hardly mattered. He’d put up with such treatment for fifteen years. He could do so a little longer.

~OoO~

He was stopped by soldiers on horseback just outside of Derdriu. A checkpoint, he guessed, based on the small guardhouse that sat off the side of the road. Khalid had half a mind to ignore them when they flagged him down, but decided that would be ill-advised. Several of the soldiers had bows, and he wasn’t sure how much trouble he wanted to stir up. Instead, he landed obediently. The soldiers regarded him with narrowed eyes, sharing pointed glances between themselves.

“What’s the occasion, fellas?” Khalid wondered lightly when they didn’t speak, trying to imitate a Fódlan accent as best he could. It… wasn’t great.

The solider at the front of the line hopped down from her horse and approached Khalid. Zahra chittered sweetly, always such a polite girl, and the woman’s hand fell on the hilt of her sword. “Control your beast,” she warned.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” Khalid dismissed, scratching Zahra lightly on the head, “she’s a proper lady. She doesn’t bite.” The woman didn’t seem too amused. “So, what can I do for you?”

“What’s your business in Derdriu?” the woman asked.

“Just a personal visit,” Khalid lied. Well, was it really a lie? “Visiting family.”

“You’ve family in the city?” the woman asked, quirking an eyebrow. Khalid smiled, relaxed and friendly, and nodded earnestly. _That_ , at least, was completely true. “And where are you headed from?”

“Everhurst,” he lied smoothly, thankful he’d taken the time to study the map Nader had gifted him.

The woman was silent for a moment, staring intently at Khalid. “Why are you riding a wyvern?”

Khalid shrugged. “Horses make me uneasy.” If looks could kill, Khalid would have dropped dead. “So, do you stop everyone on the road, or just handsome strangers on wyverns?” he wondered with a sly grin, unable to help himself.

“Get off the wyvern,” she ordered. “We need to get this sorted out.” Khalid hesitated. Two more of the soldiers dismounted and approached slowly, hands ready on their weapons. With a sigh, he slid off. One of the soldiers relieved him of his bow and quiver.

“Careful with that,” he sighed. “It’s antique.” The soldier nodded, handling the quiver gently. Zahra chirped, nervous, stamping her feet on the ground. Khalid, feigning as calm a posture as he could muster with every muscle poised to fight or run if the soldier attacked, crouched to soothe her. “Shh, it’s fine, girl. These nice people won’t hurt us.”

The soldiers ushered him toward the guardhouse, allowing him to take Zahra’s reins and tie her to the hitching post next to some skittish horses. The woman – the captain, he presumed, based on her slightly nicer armor and the way the other soldiers all deferred to her orders – led Khalid inside and gestured for him to take a seat at a rickety table. She ordered one of the men off down the road before taking a seat across from Khalid. She took off her helmet, placing it on the table between them, showing off short-cropped dark hair that complimented her deep blue eyes.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” she said, voice dripping with authority. She was all business, and Khalid guessed his joking wouldn’t do much to change that. “What’s your name?”

“Cal.” It was the first thing that sprang to mind.

She blinked, unimpressed. “Got a last name, Cal?”

He didn’t know too much about Fódlan surnames. He thought, quickly as he could, back to the books he’d read during his last visit. “Spearman,” he decided.

“Cal Spearman.” Clearly, he wasn’t fooling her, but she didn’t call him out. “Where’d you say you’ve come from?

“Everhurst.”

“Bullshit,” she said dryly. He cocked his head to the side. “I’m from Everhurst.”

 _Fuck._ Khalid laughed. “I didn’t say I’m from Everhurst,” he amended. “You asked where I was _headed_ from. I’m headed from Everhurst. I made a pit-stop there. I’m _from_ Theodale. Sorry for the confusion.”

“You’re full of shit,” she protested dryly. She gestured at one of the other soldiers who stood behind her, and he handed over the quiver he’d taken from Khalid. She studied it for a moment, turning it over in her hands. “This is nice.” Her fingers brushed lightly over the fine gold script. “Almyran?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Khalid lied. “It’s something that’s been handed down in my family for generations. One of my however-many-great grandfathers won it gambling, or something.”

“I see…” The woman stood. “Well, _Cal_ , I’ve got work to do. When you decide you want to tell me the truth, we’ll can try this again.” Once again, she gestured to the guard, who stepped forward with a length of rope in his hands.

And that was how Khalid ended up tied to a table, alone in a little guardhouse just outside of Derdriu. He cursed himself, leaning heavily in his chair, staring grumpily around the small room. His hands were bound together and tied at an awkward angle to one of the legs of the table, which he determined very quickly was bolted to the floor. One guard was posted just outside the door, and the rest bustled around outside. He watched them through the dingy window at his side.

Getting out of his binds would be child’s play. Given the unusual circumstances of his childhood, Khalid’s father insisted Khalid learn to escape bonds, and the guards didn’t even search him for more weapons; his dagger was still sheathed snug in his boot. The problem would be getting past the guards armed only with a little dagger, get Zahra, and escape without getting shot down.

Instead, Khalid decided to bide his time. Bored out of his mind, shoulders aching from his uncomfortable position, an hour passed before anything of note happened. The soldier the woman had sent off returned with another soldier in tow, this one in fancier armor than even the captain’s. The new arrival got off his horse and Khalid watched as the captain stepped forward and offered a formal salute. As they passed the window, Khalid thought he could just make out a familiar crescent moon shape adorned on the front of the fancy suit of armor, and his stomach flip-flopped.

The door opened a moment later, and the captain and the new arrival stepped in. Sure enough, the Crest of Riegan gleamed proudly on the man’s broad chest. He pulled off his helmet, tucking it under his arm as he stared down at Khalid. Sir Detrus, just as stern and gruff-looking as Khalid remembered. “I did just as you asked, sir,” the captain explained, eyeing Khalid sharply. “Detain any suspicious young men who wander up the road.”

Khalid rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, I’m so suspicious,” he scoffed.

She ignored him, returning her attention back to Sir Detrus. “He’s done nothing but lie since we stopped him. Says his name is Cal Spearman.”

“Thank you, Mara,” Sir Detrus said, “you’ve done well.”

“What would you have us do with him, sir?”

“Cut him loose,” the man said simply. Mara stared at him, mouth slightly agape, looking like she was about to protest. “I will see to him, personally.”

Mara hesitated, just for a second before shaking her head and pulling a utility knife from her belt. She muttered darkly under her breath as she cut Khalid free. He rubbed his sore, reddened wrists, rolling his stiff shoulders; they made a series of satisfying pops as he stretched.

“My quiver?” he asked as he stood. With a glare, Mara grabbed it off a shelf it had been placed on for safe keeping and shoved it back into his hands. He smiled politely as he slung it over his shoulder. “Thank you very much for your time.”

Sir Detrus didn’t say a word through the whole exchange, just turned on his heel and stepped outside. Khalid followed. No one stopped him from untying Zahra and mounting her. Sir Detrus mounted his large steed as well. With a pointed look at Khalid, one that told him he’d better follow or else, he set off down the road. Waving lightly back at Mara, Khalid ushered Zahra after him.

Sir Detrus led him down an unmarked lane, and Khalid vaguely remembered the scenery from their trips in the carriage to and from the Riegan manor several months before. The weather was much nicer, much warmer in the Blue Sea Moon sun. Still a bit chilly compared to the sweltering Almyran summers he was accustomed to, but the breeze at least didn’t raise goosebumps on his flesh or set his teeth chattering.

They were let through the wrought iron gate with no fanfare. Sir Detrus didn’t stop in front of the manor, as they had the last time, instead taking a rough dirt path that wound off to the side of the building where the stable sat. The stable boy Khalid had met before rushed out to take the horse away after Sir Detrus dismounted.

“We don’t have a wyvern keeper here,” he said simply, the first words he’d said directly to Khalid since freeing him from the roadblock. “You’ll have to take care of it for yourself.”

Khalid slid down. “Fine by me,” he said with a shrug. “I usually tend to her myself anyway.” The stable boy returned, though he remained well away from Zahra, and showed Khalid to an empty stall large enough to accommodate a wyvern. Khalid guessed the stable had once housed them, but no longer did so. He untied his things from her saddle and untacked her quickly. As a treat, he fished a few strips of dried meat from what remained of his trail rations and tossed them to her. She snapped them up with a purr.

Sir Detrus was still waiting for him when he emerged from the stable. “Your grandfather is waiting.” He headed toward the manor without waiting to see if Khalid was following. Khalid’s mind raced as he started putting small pieces together. Sir Detrus had ordered the soldiers at the roadblock to detain any ‘suspicious’ young men that came through, though didn’t tell them why. He had not seemed surprised to see Khalid, instead, like he’d been expecting him. His grandfather was waiting. Somehow, they had known he was coming. How, Khalid couldn’t fathom.

Sir Detrus led him through familiar halls to his grandfather’s study, stepping off to the side of the door when they reached their destination. Khalid didn’t bother knocking. His grandfather sat, bent over a thick roll of parchment, sipping slowly on a steaming cup of tea. Khalid stood there for a moment. His grandfather gave no indication he’d noticed the boy’s arrival.

“How’d you know I was coming back?” Khalid finally asked.

The man didn’t look up from what he was reading. Instead, he reached for an envelope and slid it over toward Khalid. The boy took it. His name was written on the front in Almyran script, his mother’s handwriting. Somehow, a letter beat him to Derdriu. “It was slipped to an express courier at the Eastern Church,” his grandfather explained lazily, answering the question that went unasked. “To be honest, I expected I would never see you again. I’ve never been so happy to be dead wrong.”

“Clearly,” Khalid muttered. The man seemed _real_ enthused.

The man finally looked up at him with those piercing green eyes. “I don’t particularly care _why_ you changed your mind,” he admitted. “Your reasons are your own business. But, now that you’re here, you will do things my way. There are certain expectations for an heir to a noble house, and this one especially. We’ve a lot of work to do before I can officially claim you as my heir.”

“I see.”

“Starting tomorrow, your schedule will be as follows: you will wake up at six o'clock to train with Sir Detrus to learn the fighting styles used in Fódlan. You will break at eight for breakfast, followed by spending an hour with a tutor to learn to speak with a Fódlan accent. After that, you will continue your training until lunch time. After lunch, you will study the history and politics of Fódlan here with me. After our lessons, you can spend the rest of your afternoon how you see fit. Sundays are a holy day, so they will be yours to do as you please.”

Khalid swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but hearing out loud all the ways he had to be changed in order to be fit to be his grandfather’s heir, all the ways he was _wrong_ , sat like a rock in his stomach. But if that’s what it took… “Anything else?”

The man regarded him for a moment. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen next month.”

“I see. Very well.” He sipped on his tea for a moment and cleared his throat loudly before continuing. “One of the maids has been assigned as your attendant. She’ll see to you, so do try not to bother the rest of the staff. You’re free to wander the manor and the surrounding grounds, but if a door is locked, best leave it that way. You can go into the city in your free time, but tell no one who you are. And, please, stick to riding a horse, if you would.” It was phrased as a request, but it felt more like an order. “I believe that’s all. If I’ve need of you, I’ll send word.”

“Right.” Khalid turned to leave.

“Oh, one last thing.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ll need a proper Fódlan name. I expect you to have one chosen by the time you come for your lesson tomorrow.”

Khalid’s jaw tightened. “Right,” he repeated lamely.

Sir Detrus was still waiting outside the door as Khalid pulled it closed behind him. “You’ll be in the same room you had on your last visit,” the man explained stiffly. “Do you remember the way?”

“Yeah.” He headed that way without another word. It had been two months, but it felt just as familiar as the last time he’d made the walk, when his mother had barged in to argue with his grandfather. Her letter sat heavy in his hand.

The room was just as he’d left it, and Khalid threw his scant belongings in a heap on the floor before sinking into the fresh-made bed and staring up at the ceiling, turning the letter over idly between his fingers. With a sigh, he pushed himself up and tore into the envelope.

 _Khalid_ ,

 _Words cannot describe my feelings, waking up and finding my_ _son has absconded in the dead of night. And back to Fódlan, no less. I am crushed. I am angry. I am worried for you. I thought you’d learned during our visit why I never wanted you to have anything to do with my family, but clearly there’s no reasoning with you. You’ve always been so headstrong, just like your father._

_I don’t know what you hope to achieve there, but I suppose you’re old enough to make your own choices. So, go ahead, play your grandfather’s game. I ask you only one thing; leave your father and I out of it. It’s best for all of us that way._

_As your mother, I wish you nothing but the best. I hope you find what you’re looking for there. I hope you find happiness. Of course, my arms are open if you ever deign to return home, but I leave you with a warning: once you make your bed, you must be prepared to lay in it. Keep that in mind._

_All my love, my son._

Khalid snorted, tossing the letter aside. Always so passive-aggressive (or, often, purely aggressive). Tell him to fuck off in one breath, and that she hoped he was happy in the next. Still, it was the sentiment that mattered, he supposed. With a sigh, he neatly folded the letter and stowed it in the bottom of a drawer in the desk he’d left untouched during his last visit.

A soft knock on the door drew his attention. “Come in,” he called. It opened slowly, and a timid girl stepped in. Her head was bowed deeply, staring at her shoes. She wore the maid uniform, a simple black dress with a white apron trimmed with yellow. Her hair was braided and pinned up neatly. “Hello”

She shuffled forward, hands clutched tightly in front of her as she curtsied. “My lord,” she greeted meekly.

He sighed. “Enough of that.” Her head snapped up, eyes wide, terrified that she’d done something to upset him. “Drop the polite and proper crap,” he said gently. “I take it your the maid the old man’s ordered to babysit me. What’s your name?”

She stammered, confused and still somewhat mortified. “Adelaide, my lord…”

“No, no lord,” he protested. “No curtsies. No titles. Look, if it’s just us, then I want you to speak plainly.”

“What would you have me call you?”

He shrugged. “Khalid. Or, I guess, when I figure out a Fódlan name, that.” She bit her lip. “Hell, call me Asshole if you want.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “I would never-”

“Relax,” he said gently, like he was soothing a skittish wyvern, holding up his palms. “It was a joke. You might want to get used to that, I’m very funny.” That, at least, made her laugh, a small giggle bubbling through her lips. “That’s better. Adelaide… Can I call you Addie?”

“Whatever pleases you, m… K-Khaild.”

“Great,” he said with grin.

She fidgeted in place for a moment. “I… I came to draw a bath and collect your laundry,” she explained. She bustled into the adjoining bathing chamber and began running a bath, water piped in from somewhere Khalid hadn’t quite learned yet. He’d taken baths the last time he’d been there, of course, and they were very similar to those in the palace in Almyra, though perhaps a touch less elegant. In the palace, the tubs were more akin to small pools set into the stone, tiled with elegant mosaics. In the Riegan manor, the tub was more humble-looking cast iron, adorned with magic runes used to keep the water warm.

Addie busied herself scenting the water with a variety of sweet herbs and flower petals while Khalid waited. He changed quickly out of his dirty travel clothes, adding them to the heap on the floor, and wrapped up in a robe that he discovered remained in the wardrobe.

Addie blushed at the sight when she emerged from the bathroom, instinctively fixing her eyes back to her shoes.. “It’s ready, my… Khalid. I will see that your clothes a cleaned quickly.”

“Thanks, Addie.” She tipped her head, clearly fighting the urge to curtsy, before scooping up his dirty laundry and scurrying out of the room. Khalid let himself sink into the warm water, reveling in the floral aroma as he scrubbed two weeks of grime off his skin and out of his hair. For a moment, things were calm, and he contented himself to settling into what would certainly be a strange new existence.


	7. Claude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid settles into his new life and struggles to find a new name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter. It's been hard to keep up with a routine when I have very little motivation to do so, thanks to the quarantine. I've been trying to stave off getting bored writing one thing by writing another thing at the same time, but now my dumb brain just wants to think about the other one. There's just no winning.

By the time Khalid finished his bath, his clothes were washed and folded neatly on the bed. Addie was nowhere to be seen. He changed quickly, relishing the feeling of fresh, clean cloth on his skin, rather than the dirt, grit, and sweat that had been clinging to him for days on end. He stood in front of the mirror and twisted the lock of hair over his ear back into a braid, just as Salma had done, not willing to part with her blessing quite yet.

With nothing better to do, Khalid fell back to his previous habit of wandering off to the library to seek solace in the dusty historical tomes there. And that is where Addie found him, her eyes still a touch frantic. “M… Khalid,” she sighed, sinking down momentarily as she forgot his request that she not curtsy before jerking back upright. “Is there anything you require?”

He sat down the book he’d been idly leafing through. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Very well.” She stood primly by the door, hands fidgeting in front of her. “Oh, I nearly forgot. His Grace has arranged for the tailor to come by tomorrow so you can be fitted for a new wardrobe.”

Khalid glanced down at his worn leather riding pants, his light shirt that was growing threadbare in places, his soft leather boots with a hole forming in one of the soles. “Yeah, I suppose I don’t much like a stuffy noble, do I?”

She covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a small bubble of laughter. “I suppose not.” She blinked, eyes going wide again as she realized she’d relaxed a little, and her eyes fell to her shoes.

“You’re allowed to laugh, Addie,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to make jokes.” She peeked up at him through the curtain of her bangs. “And you don’t have to be afraid of me. I don’t bite.”

“I beg your pardon,” she muttered.

“Here, come sit down,” he offered, pushing out the chair next to him. “Let’s talk.” Slowly, like a mouse uncertain about the cheese set on a mousetrap, she crossed over and sank into the chair. Her back was stiff, rigid as she refused to allow herself to relax. “I told you, you can speak plainly around me. What’s bothering you?”

“Please, si… Khalid, I’m trying, but this is just not the way things are done.” He cocked his head, waiting for her to offer an explanation. “I’m a maid. You’re a lord. I’m supposed to do my chores and see that you have what you need, and I’m supposed to do it as unseen and unheard as possible.”

“Well, I think that’s dumb,” he dismissed, and her eyes went wide. Sure, things had been very similar at home, but Khalid had always made a point of being as friendly to the servants as he could. Not that it helped, as most of them cursed him behind his back anyway. “Since the old man put you on babysitting duty, you’re kind of stuck with me. The way I see it, it’s going to be a lot more pleasant for both of us if we’re friends. Don’t you think?”

She considered it for a moment. “Perhaps…”

He studied her as she mulled over his words. He didn’t miss the way she leaned her body just slightly away, the way her eyes kept darting over to him at his slightest movement. “But that’s not all that’s bothering you,” he noted, keeping his voice as soft and calm as he could. “Are you scared of me?” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what they tell you about Almyrans, but I’m not-”

“It’s not that…” She bit her lip, face flushing pink as she looked like she would have preferred to be just about anywhere else in the world. “Before you arrived, some of the older maids were talking about lords they’ve served in other houses. They say it’s common for young lords to… to…” Her voice cracked and she seemed utterly unable to continue.

Khalid blinked. Of all the things he’d considered she’d be afraid of, it wasn’t that. Memories of taking beatings from Amir to distract the older boy long enough for scared serving girls to scurry away bubbled to the surface. “They told you young lords have their way with the maids?” Her face went bright red, but she offered a tiny nod. “Well, I don’t know any other Fódlan nobles, but I promise you that’s not going to happen. I’m not that kind of guy.” While she didn’t look completely convinced, her shoulders relaxed a little.

“Of course not,” she said very quickly, apparently realizing she’d basically just accused him of… having ill intent, so to speak. “I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Relax. Breathe. It’s fine.” She took his advice and he waited until she settled a little. “Now, I could use some help. I don’t know much about Fódlan names.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” she said, seeming relieved to have a task to focus on. She rubbed her chin, staring off into space. “Nobles, I think, like to have fancy sounding names. Or traditional names that they can trace back to their ancestors.”

Khalid considered this. “In Almyra, parents give their children names with significant meanings,” he noted. “Khalid, for example, would translate into the Fódlan word ‘immortal.’ My sister’s name, Salma, means ‘peaceful.’”

“Salma is a pretty name,” she mused with a faint smile. She stood and started browsing through the shelves, muttering lightly as she ran her finger over the spines. After a moment, she found what she was looking for and returned to Khalid with a thick, leather-bound book. “It’s a genealogy record. Maybe you can find some inspiration here.”

Khalid began the arduous task of thumbing through the text, reading snippets of von Riegans past, their accomplishments, their children. Occasionally, he would throw out a name to get Addie’s opinion; she would consider it for a moment, studying him while she did, before crinkling her nose and shaking her head. And the search would begin anew. It was dull, dry work, and when Khalid finally closed the book to take a break, he felt like his brain was beginning to melt out his ears.

“You’ll find the right one,” she assured him. “Perhaps some dinner will make you feel better.”

“That sounds great.”

Addie led him to a room he hadn’t previously been to, a smaller dining room near the kitchen, clearly meant for when there was no company to impress. Addie disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a hearty stew. It smelled heavenly, and his mouth watered as he watched delicate wisps of steam curl away from the bowl. His grandfather didn’t join him for dinner. Addie explained that he took most of his meals in his study, and he apparently didn’t see any reason to deviate from that routine for Khalid’s sake. Not that the boy minded.

After dinner, Khalid returned to his search in the library. Addie bustled in and out, checking on him between completing her other duties. He started making lists, shooting them off one after another during her visits. Each one was soundly rejected, and several sheets of parchment found themselves crumpled up and tossed in the bin.

Khalid might not have slept had Addie not pushed him to do so before she was set to leave for the night. Some of the maids lived in the manor, sleeping in the servants’ quarters. Addie was not one of them, but she assured him she would be back by breakfast.

Khalid slept restlessly, too preoccupied with the need to find a name to fully shut down and let sleep find him. Even in his dreams, he heard the whispers of Fódlan names echoing around him. He was no closer to a name when he was woken by a different, unfamiliar maid as the first light of dawn broke over the lush grounds. She set out some training clothes and a small plate of food that would keep him over until breakfast before taking her leave.

After dressing and scarfing down his light breakfast, Khalid made his way to the training hall. Sir Detrus was already waiting, looking grumpy as ever. He started Khalid on the basics of Fódlan swordplay, which was seen as a very important skill for a young noble to have mastered. It wasn’t too different from Almyran swordplay, and Khalid had always had a little bit of natural talent with a blade, but there was something more rigid in the movements that didn’t quite mesh with Khalid’s style.

By the time Sir Detrus released Khalid for his proper breakfast, the boy was sore and sticky with sweat. Addie was waiting for him, as promised, as he sank into the chair in front of a plate of eggs, bacon, and fruit. He shoveled it down greedily.

“I brought you something,” she announced when he was finished, looking pleased with herself, hands hiding something behind her back. He arched an eyebrow as she presented him with a book. “My mother’s had this laying around the house at least as long as I can remember. I thought it might help you.”

He took the book. _1,000 Cute, Charming, and Chivalrous Baby Names_. “A… book of baby names.”

“A book of baby names from when I was born,” she corrected. “I’m only just a little bit older than you, so you don’t have to worry about accidentally picking something that only became popular way after you were born, or picking something that’s been out of style since His Grace was a baby.”

He laughed a little as she beamed brightly up at him. “Thanks, Addie. I’ll look through it during lunch.” Honestly, he was rather touched that she’d cared enough to bring him the book. She certainly seemed to be much more comfortable around him, too.

With his breakfast finished, Khalid had some time before the tutor his grandfather mentioned was set to arrive. He took the time to go see to Zahra, Addie tagging along out of curiosity as she’d never seen a wyvern up close before. By the time they finished, Zahra had even let a very timid Addie pat her snout.

They found their way back to the library, where an unfamiliar man was sitting at the fine oak table, sipping on a cup of tea and chatting with one of the other maids. He stood when they entered, offering a kind, but weary smile. The other maid ushered Addie out, leaving Khalid alone with the man. He was a tall, sharp man with thin gray hair and a slender, pointed nose. A pair of wire frame glasses was perched on the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them up idly every so often as they started sliding back down.

“Hello,” the man greeted, gesturing to the chair across from him for Khalid to take a seat. “My name is Vincent Artrus. His Grace has asked that I have the honor of tutoring you.” His words were light, but there was something in his tone that suggested that it wasn’t much of an honor.

“Nice to meet you.” At once, the man’s demeanor changed, his eyes sparkling. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” the man insisted. “Quite the opposite. I’m a linguist, you see, and I’ve always been particularly fascinated with the Almyran language, but I’ve had so few chances to actually speak with an Almyran. His Grace, for good reason I am sure, had only mentioned that the student I was to teach was a foreigner.”

Khalid wondered just how much information his grandfather had withheld from Vincent… and how much he was paying for the man’s silence. Ultimately, it didn’t matter all that much to Khalid. “Well, lucky you, I suppose.”

Vincent laughed. “Lucky me, indeed.” The began their lesson. Vincent was impressed with Khalid’s grasp on the language already, not realizing that his only job was to teach Khalid to do a convincing Fódlan accent. He cringed slightly when he prompted Khalid to do his best accent, muttering that they had a lot of work to do.

The hour came and went, and the maid returned to see Vincent out. He bid Khalid a goodbye, seeming genuinely enthusiastic to return the next day, and it was time for more training with Sir Detrus. It seemed like forever before the clock chimed noon and Khalid was dismissed for lunch.

Just as he'd promised Addie, Khalid flipped through the baby name book while he ate, and found himself amused with how strange Fódlan names could be. They, too, seemed to have significant meanings, derived from dead languages or old forms of the Fódlan tongue that no one spoke anymore; the meanings just weren’t all that important to prospective parents, more of a novelty than anything.

As he flipped through, one name caught his attention, calling his mind back to his reading the night before. For obvious reasons, he had skipped over the names of his female ancestors, but he couldn’t help himself from reading about a few of them, all the same. To learn that one of them that had piqued his interest had a name with both a male _and_ female variant…

“Addie, what about this one?” He pushed the book over where she could see, marking the name with his finger. She looked between him and the name, brow furrowed with intense concentration.

After a long moment, she smiled. “Oh, yes. I like that one.”

He flipped the book closed in triumph and shoved it away. “Good. Settled. Done.” She giggled before returning to her work.

After lunch, Khalid found his way to his grandfather’s study, entering without knocking. The man was waiting for him, elbows on the table and fingers folded in front of his chin. He had several books stacked in front of him, pages marked with thin ribbons. Khalid took a seat in the chair across from him, and neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“So?” the old man finally prompted, arching a bushy white eyebrow.

Khalid took a breath. This was it. No turning back. No changing his mind. “Claude.”

Those bright green eyes studied him long and hard, almost like they were seeing under his skin, and Khalid had to resist the urge to squirm in his seat. “Claude von Riegan,” the old man mused. “Very well. Let’s begin.”


	8. Lady Judith von Daphnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid meets Judith

**Six Years Earlier**

Rashad’s feet made no sound against the tile as he stepped out onto the balcony outside his and Tiana's bedroom. A cool night breeze rippled through his loose curls and swished his robes around his ankles. The boy didn’t see him, didn’t hear him, just stared abjectly out over the edge of the balcony from a lounge chair, shivering slightly in his light clothes. Azraq glittered with candle- and torchlight before them, across the inky, star-studded expanse of the oasis that separated the city from its palace.

Unable to help himself, Rashad came up behind the boy, unnoticed, and placed his hand on his small shoulder. The boy shrieked, twisting himself away from the unexpected touch, and fell ass-over-teakettle over the arm of the chair. He landed hard on the floor, breath knocked from his lungs, hands scrabbling for the knife sheathed in his boot.

Rashad laughed as realization dawned over the boy’s face, and he sank into the spot his son had previously occupied. “Khalid, if I’d been an assassin, you would be dead.”

Khalid scowled up at him, pushing himself up on his elbows. “You’re not an assassin, Baba,” he huffed.

“Lucky for you.” He scooped the boy up, settling him against his chest and leaning back in the chair. Khalid relaxed into his father’s warmth, wrapping his small arms around himself against the cold. “Why did you leave the party? Most children love their birthdays.”

“It’s no fun,” he complained. “Parties are just an excuse for all the grown ups to drink and talk about boring stuff.” Rashad couldn’t help but laugh a little at his son’s indignant tone, how his childish words somehow managed to sound world-weary and wise beyond their years. “The other kids never want to play with me, and now Salma has to hold my hand the whole time. I don’t get to do anything anymore because I have to stay with your and Mama, or Nader.”

Rashad sighed. “It’s for your own safety,” he reminded his son gently. “Your sister was very upset when she noticed you were missing, you know.”

“I’ll apologize to her later.”

“Sneaking away from the party was very dangerous. You have enemies who want you dead, and very nearly achieved their goal just a few months ago.”

Khalid worried at the spot on the center of his stomach absently. “I know, Baba,” he sighed. “I’m not stupid. I was _there_.”

Irate, Rashad reached up and smacked the boy’s cheek sharply, delivering more surprise than sting and eliciting a small yelp. “Mind your tongue,” he scolded. “I don’t care for your attitude.”

“Sorry, Baba.” Khalid sank back against his father’s chest once more. Silence fell over them as they stared up at the sky, stars glittering like diamonds over them.

“Look, the Great Wyvern has taken flight,” he mused, pointing up at the constellation that told the story of a fierce wyvern that protected the summer sky. Khalid stared, wide eyed, where his father pointed. In that way, they were very similar. Rashad had fond memories of sitting in his own father’s lap as the man told him the story of the stars above, taught him of the tapestry history and myth weaved across the sky. Salma had always listened politely to his stories, and Amir and Hassan had no patience for words. Khalid, however, was always enraptured by his father’s tales, breathed history like air.

Rashad found himself caught in the peaceful moments, passing the stories his father had told him into Khalid’s eager mind, the party forgotten. The moon was high in the sky when a soft snore cut him off mid-sentence. The boy had drifted off to sleep.

He lifted Khalid carefully, and the boy didn’t so much as stir as he carried him back inside, relishing the warmth on his chilled skin. Tiana was already laying in bed reading a book, the party long-since ended. She arched an eyebrow when he laid Khalid down in the bed next to her, even as she reached over to brush a strand of hair from the boy’s face. “Going a bit soft in your old age, I see,” she teased softly.

Perhaps so, he decided, changing for bed. Khalid had been five the last time he’d allowed the boy to spend the night in their bed. He’d been at the stage where children fear the dark, fear monsters lurking under their bed. Rashad did what his own father had done to him, did what he had done for Amir and Hassan as well; barred his door and let him face his fears like a man. A few sleepless nights of fear and paranoia later, he realized that there were no monsters hiding in the shadows and no longer sought the comfort of his parents at night.

“You’re welcome to carry him back to his room if you wish,” he said with a shrug. “I, however, am going to sleep.” She made no move, and he settled into bed next to them.

~OoO~

Khalid woke bright and early, as he had every day for the past moon, nearly managing to forget that it was, in fact, his sixteenth birthday. The sight of a small envelope on his bedside table when he stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes served as an unwelcome reminder.

The parchment was made of thick, ivory colored parchment, sealed with shimmery golden wax bearing the Crest of Riegan, like so many things in his new home. He popped the seal more out of curiosity than excitement and tipped the contents out into his hand.

A fine gold chain pooled into his palm, followed by what was clearly an antique pendant. The pendant itself was no bigger than a regular gold coin, but was carved with intricate detail surrounding a relief of – you guessed it – the Crest of Riegan.

Considering he wasn’t expecting – or desiring – a gift from the old man at all, he wasn’t sure what to make of the pendant. There was no card, no note explaining its importance, or even wishing him a happy birthday. With a sigh, Khalid tucked the pendant into his desk’s drawer for safe keeping and got ready for his day.

It passed mostly uneventfully, with Addie excitedly wishing him a happy birthday and pouting when he insisted a big deal not be made over it. The sooner he got it behind him, the better. She wouldn’t let it go until he conceded to allowing the cook to make his favorite meal for dinner; he picked one of the few dishes he’d found common in Fódlan that was actually spicy.

Sir Detrus and Vincent didn’t acknowledge that anything was different about that particular day, and he doubted they knew to begin with, for which Khalid was grateful. His training with Sir Detrus was shaping up to the man’s standards, and they were moving on to more advanced drills. Things with Vincent were a bit slower going, as the scholar often found himself side-tracked bombarding Khalid with questions about the Almyran language, their lesson forgotten. Still, his accent was getting notably better.

Which was good, considering the old man insisted Khalid ‘practice’ at all times. He’d started using Khalid’s name; his fake one, that is. Claude. It still sounded strange in his ears, and sometimes he forgot that he was supposed to be responding to it. Addie, at Khalid’s instruction to appease the old man, had also switched over to calling him Claude.

Some days, it felt like he was slowly, but steadily discarding everything that he’d ever been and rebuilding himself to his grandfather’s standards. Which, he supposed, was technically all true. Still, when these thoughts crossed his mind, Khalid found himself frozen, struggling to breathe through the vice that gripped his chest so hard he thought he would burst until the feeling eventually passed.

“Did you find your present?” the old man asked later that same day, as Khalid slid into his usual chair in the study.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“That pendant has been passed down for generations from father to eldest son,” he explained, pretending to ignore the lack of enthusiasm in his grandson’s tone. “I gave it to your uncle Godfrey when he was sixteen, just as my father passed it to me. As Godfrey passed with no children, it seemed only fitting that you have it in his stead.”

“Right,” Khalid muttered, finding himself wondering if his uncle had been wearing it when he passed. Almyrans tended to be a touch on the superstitious side, and many believed that anything that had touched the flesh of the dead was sullied or cursed with misfortune. While Khalid wasn't the most superstitious, the thought still unsettled him. He didn’t voice these thoughts, however, and just forced out as cheery a “Thank you,” as he could manage. Their lesson began with no further fanfare, and Khalid was able to enjoy a mostly uncelebrated birthday in peace for the first time in his life.

~OoO~

Moons passed in quiet monotony, Khalid falling into a comfortable routine of the schedule his grandfather had laid out for him. He excelled at all of his lessons, of course, and came to enjoy spending his free time roaming the halls or grounds of the Riegan Estate. Occasionally, he and Addie would venture into the city, and Khalid explored the labyrinthine cobblestone streets and perused the various vendor stalls and shops that lined them.

Occasionally, his grandfather would send word that they were unable to have his history and politics lessons, and the man would shut himself away for days at a time. Apparently, it was not uncommon for the old duke to suddenly take ill. In his old age, his health began to fail him more and more frequently. During these times, whispers wandered the halls about how much longer the old man had left in him.

He fell especially ill at the start of the Ethereal Moon, about five moons after Khalid’s arrival. This was concerning, he learned, because of the Round Table Conference that was set to take place that month. In general, three Conferences took place each year; one in the Great Tree Moon, the Verdant Rain Moon, and the Ethereal Moon.

When the duke was unable to attend, he sent a representative in his stead. Lady von Daphnel. Khalid had never met the woman, but she had a reputation among the staff as being a woman who wouldn’t take shit from anybody, not even the duke himself. Previously, she’d had a place at the Round Table as the head of one of the Alliance’s five great noble families, but with her house struggling, she’d given up her seat to an up-and-coming noble family, House Edmund.

Khalid finally got to meet her about eight months after his arrival, during the Lone Moon. Khalid woke early, as usual, only to find a note on his bedside table. _I’ve company arriving today, and I would like you to remain out of sight until further notice. Take the day for yourself._

Khalid’s brow furrowed as he read the note over several times. What did it matter if they had company? People would have to see him eventually, after all, if that was what the old man was worrying about. Before he could make sense of his grandfather’s reasoning, the maid who tended to him before Addie arrived for the day invited herself in, burdened with a hearty breakfast.

Khalid tried to enjoy his unexpected day off. He tried to do as he was asked and stay out of sight – really, he did. But at midday when he just happened to notice a carriage cresting over the hill on its way up the drive as he was curled up in the library’s window seat with one of the books his grandfather had assigned him, his curiosity piqued. Who was this mystery company that made it oh-so important that Khalid stay hidden?

The carriage came to a stop and the stable hands bustled forward to tend to the horses as the driver rounded to open the door. “Hey, Addie,” Khalid called, “do you know who this is?”

The driver attempted to help a woman down from the carriage, but she swatted his hand away and hopped down on her own, holding up the skirt of her dress with no regard for the wrinkles it was bound to get from the rough treatment. It was a bit too far to make out the woman’s finer features, but she seemed tall and her long, chocolate-colored hair was glossy and neatly done.

Addie ambled over and peered out the window. “Oh, that’s Lady Judith von Daphnel,” she said.

“Interesting…” he muttered, watching as the woman disappeared under the portico. “I want to get a better look.”

“Wait, Claude,” Addie huffed, Khalid already heading toward the door. “His Grace told you to stay out of sight.”

“And I will,” he dismissed with a grin. “They’ll never know I was there.” She didn’t look too convinced. “Are you coming, or not?” She hesitated, bouncing her weight back and forth and biting her lip for a moment before scurrying after him with a resigned sigh.

They moved quickly toward the entrance hall. He stopped around the corner and peeked over toward the stairs. Sir Detrus was leading the woman up the stairs, their voices echoing lightly as he asked how her journey was. Khalid and Addie went undetected as Sir Detrus turned to head toward the old man’s study. Khalid waited until they rounded a corner before ushering Addie on after him

They tailed the two silently. When Sir Detrus and Lady Judith reached the old man’s study, Khalid grabbed Addie’s arm and hauled her into an unoccupied room to wait until the knight’s footfalls disappeared on his way back to do his duties. Once the coast was clear, they made their way to the study door.

“Keep watch,” Khalid instructed in a whisper, crouching by the door and leaning his ear against it. Addie glanced around frantically, uncertain, but Khalid closed his eyes and tuned out everything but the sounds coming from the other side of the door. The wood was thick, solidly built, and he had to strain to hear their muffled voices.

“-is this 'business' you insisted is more important than my own?” the woman demanded, sounding equal parts amused and exasperated.

“I’ve a favor to ask of you, Judith,” the old man explained, voice coarse and warbling. “But I must insist you listen to everything I say before you make your judgment.”

The woman snorted. “Oh, this aught to be good.”

“You remember my daughter, correct?”

“Tiana? Of course. What about her?”

“I sought her out after Godfrey’s passing,” he said simply. There was a pregnant pause, as if he was expecting the woman to say something, but she remained silent. “I was able to find her and relay news of his passing. She visited during the last Great Tree Moon.”

“Is that so?” The woman laughed. “Alright, I don’t see where I fit into this story.”

“She brought her child along with her.” Another pause. “Her son.”

The woman swore, though the old man didn’t chide her the way he did when Khalid did the same, so it must not have bothered him too much. “Where’s she been all this time?”

“Unimportant,” he dismissed. “What matters is, he bears a Crest, though I’ve not yet been able to ascertain that it is the Crest of Riegan. And, more importantly, he’s here.”

“Here? Right now?” A pause. “Unbelievable.”

“At the next Round Table Conference, I will announce that I’ve connected with my estranged grandson, and plan to legitimize him as my heir by the year’s end.”

“And his father’s lineage?” the woman wondered.

“That’s where you come in. I want you to spread a rumor ahead of the next Conference that I’ve located an heir in the south.”

“And, is this rumor _true_?”

“Mostly.”

“You want me to lie for you?”

“As if it would be the first time,” the old man scoffed. “This is very important, Judith. Should the other Alliance lords learn the true nature of the boy’s origins-”

“Which are?” she interrupted.

“Unfortunate.” Khalid tried not to let the word sting. “The lords would not allow it to stand. I imagine you would get your seat at the Round Table back rather quickly,” he mused with a barking laugh.

“Keep your seat,” the woman scoffed.

“Spread this rumor ahead of the next Conference, then vouch for its accuracy in the following months. The lords will be more inclined to let it lie for the time being if you give them a reason to.”

Silence fell over them once again. “Out of curiosity,” the woman muttered just as Khalid was about to call it, “how old’s the boy?”

“He’ll be seventeen in just a few months.”

The woman laughed. “So, with any luck, he’ll be of age before you croak.”

“I don’t plan to die quite yet, Judith. He’ll be of age.”

“Do I get to meet the kid?”

“Of course.”

Khalid didn’t dare push his luck further. He straightened up and turned to Addie, who was still glancing around as if Sir Detrus was going to pop out from behind a tapestry at any moment. “Let’s go,” he mouthed and they darted off down the hall before they could be caught red-handed.

Addie was flushed and panting by the time they made it back to the library. Nervous laughter bubbled in small gasps past her lips as she fanned herself with trembling hands. “That had better not become a reoccurring thing,” she scolded softly.

He grinned. “Come on, you had fun. Admit it.”

“Maybe a little,” she muttered. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me.”

The afternoon wore on, and eventually word came from his grandfather that he was to join their visitor for dinner. Addie helped him pick out something suitable to wear. She settled on a black waistcoat with a rich yellow trim over an ivory-colored shirt after arguing with Khalid for ten minutes why ivory was better than the white one he’d pulled from the wardrobe. With Khalid dressed, she walked with him down to the dining room and promptly left him to wait by himself.

He didn’t have to wait long before the old man hobbled toward him with the woman at his heels. Up close, he could see that the woman had a sharp, angular face, creamy skin, and deep blue eyes.

He didn’t miss Lady Judith’s double take as her eyes fell on Khalid, the coy smile on her lips dropping in surprise. She shot the old man a suspicious look, but if he noticed, he didn’t react. Her surprise lasted only a few seconds before she schooled her face back into a look of mute interest.

Khalid grinned brightly at them. “Lady von Daphnel,” he greeted in his now quite convincing Fódlan accent, bowing respectfully. “It’s an honor to finally meet you. I’ve heard wonderful things.” The old man arched an eyebrow, and Khalid just shrugged. “The maids know everything.”

Lady Judith stepped around the old man and extended her hand for Khalid to shake. “You must be… Claude.”

“I must be.”

The old man cleared his throat. “If you do not mind, I would rather like to sit and eat,” he said in that tone that assured that it was a demand rather than a request. They followed him into the dining room and took their seats at his side, just as Khalid and his mother had done when they first arrived.

Their food was served; it was a braised pheasant that smelled delightful. The old man said grace and started slowly cutting his first bite. Lady Judith rolled her eyes, and Khalid wondered if she’d known he’d seen. With a small smirk across the table to her, Khalid took his first bite.

He could feel his grandfather’s gaze burning into him as he chewed, but the duke said nothing. He could hear Judith laugh under her breath before following Khalid’s lead. Her eyes sparkled as she studied him. Once the old man recovered from the indignation, light chatter started between the three of them.

Khalid oozed charm. He’d decided as he’d gotten dressed that he was going to make Lady Judith like him, no matter what it took. After all, he needed to get some practice winning over stuffy nobles. Though, as he soon came to learn, Judith was _far_ from a stuffy noble. She rather reminded him of his mother, he decided. Willful, crass, confidant. He got the impression that she was exactly the type of person he didn’t want to be on the bad side of.

They finished dinner and a light dessert, and Lady Judith was shown off to a guest room by one of the maids. The old man held Khalid back, staring at him with those scrutinizing eyes. “I am impressed,” Duke Riegan admitted after a moment, small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “I rather think she likes you.” Khalid grinned, triumphant. The old man started shambling away, pausing to add over his shoulder, “Don’t screw it up.”


	9. The Round Table Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid attends his first Round Table Conference.

The month rest of the month passed uneventfully. The old man’s health held out as he prepared for the upcoming Round Table Conference. Surprise of surprises, he told Khalid that he intended to bring him along to watch the show. “The lords will, of course, be most curious to meet you,” he explained with a wry smile. “Why leave them in suspense?” Khalid couldn’t argue with that logic.

Of course, he gave Khalid a list of instructions about a mile long before the Conference. At the top of that list, underlined and in all capital letters, was the order that Khalid tell no one his name before the official announcement at the end of the Conference. He was to keep his head down and not draw attention to himself, as if that would be an easy feat for someone who drew eyes like a flower drew bees. He drilled it into Khalid’s head that this was going to be the first obstacle standing in their way, and if they could cross it unscathed, what followed would be much easier.

The last day of the Great Tree Moon finally came, and Addie helped Khalid pick out a suitably elegant wardrobe, obliging his need for warmer clothes than the season would call for; even after almost a year, he still found Fódlan to be unbearably cold at times. Winter had been especially rough. He’d only ever seen snow from a distance, as it capped the peaks of Fódlan’s Throat. Seeing it piled up right outside his window – and, worse, trudging through it on his way to the training hall or stable – had almost been enough to make him reconsider if his dreams were worth the horrible conditions Fódlan suffered through. Of course, those were nothing more than bitter idle thoughts, but only just. He certainly counted his blessings when he learned that it was _even colder_ in Faerghus, often snowing almost into to summer months.

Dressed, fed, and ready for the day, Khalid made his way to the entrance hall where his grandfather was waiting. He followed the old man into the carriage waiting in the drive, and they were on their way. As the carriage bounced and rattled along the cobblestone path toward Derdriu, his grandfather reiterated his litany of rules and instructions, to which Khalid absently muttered ‘yeah’ and ‘mm-hmm’ at appropriate times, not really listening.

The carriage shuddered to a stop outside the capital building. Khalid had only seen it in passing during his visits to the city. It was an elegant, imposing building with a massive domed roof that glinted in the early morning sun. He followed the old man inside, drinking in the finely decorated halls that lead the way to his grandfather’s study.

It was laid out fairly similarly to the study at the Riegan manor, with a massive dark wood desk that was polished until it gleamed in the firelight cast by the hearth. A small settee was nestled in the corner, well within the warmth of the fireplace, and Khalid claimed the spot as his own while the old man settled behind the desk to review his notes. He pulled a book of one of the bookshelves and leafed through it absently.

“I won’t ask that you remain in here,” his grandfather said after a while had passed, “because I’m sure you won’t listen, but I will remind you to be discrete.”

“I know,” Khalid muttered, hoping the old man didn’t launch into his rules for the billionth time. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“How reassuring.” A grandfather clock chimed, announcing nine o’clock, and the old man stood. “There’s an observation balcony on the second floor, if you care to watch the Conference. Just be quiet.” Without further ado, the old man scooped up his notes and left Khalid to his own devices.

Khalid waited a while longer, figuring he’d run into less people once the Conference began. Finally, itching to get out of the study, Khalid decided to find that second floor. A helpful servant pointed him in the right direction, and Khalid climbed the staircase.

The balcony, it turned out, was set all around the circumference of a large circular chamber, the interior of the dome ceiling overhead. Light streamed in through windows set into the dome, and the whole space was pleasantly warm. Tables were set along the railing, paired with plush, comfy looking chairs. Maids bustled around silently, offering tea and snacks to the couple of observers that were spread around the circle.

Khalid took a seat in the chair closest to him, subtly eyeing his fellow watchers: a woman, perhaps a few years older than his mother, with light, honey-gold hair in an expensive blue dress, who sat reading with her back to the railing; a studious man who scrawled notes quickly on a roll of parchment, practically leaning over the railing; and a boy Khalid guessed was about his age who, from a distance, looked like he had a grape for a head. Yet another thing Khalid found jarring about people from Fódlan, the variety of strange, unnatural hair and eye colors they had.

A maid offered Khalid a cup of tea, which he accepted, and he turned his attention to the Conference down below. Five men sat around a large circular table that Khalid guessed was as old as the Alliance itself. It was certainly made with the finest craftsmanship, that much was obvious even from above. Farthest from Khalid was his grandfather, his warbling voice barely carrying enough to reach the balcony. Going clockwise around the table, Khalid noted a man with deep fuchsia hair and a neatly trimmed beard that matched, a man with black hair that Khalid would place in his early thirties, a man with mousy brown hair and a thin mustache, and a man with long plum-colored hair tied back neatly. While Khalid knew the names of the five great lords, he had no way of putting the names with the faces he saw below him.

The Conference droned on and on, and Khalid listened dutifully. A bit dry, perhaps, but some of it was interesting. And, of course, if Khalid was going to inherit his grandfather’s title some day, it was for the best that he invested himself in the politics involved sooner rather than later. All the while, he could feel Grape-Head’s eyes burning into him from across the room and pointedly ignored it. He noted, too, that the woman peeked up from her book from time to time.

The Conference broke from lunch. Grape-Head and the woman meandered back downstairs, and the lords below filed out of the room. Before Khalid had decided if he wanted to return to his grandfather’s office, a maid came by and asked if he wanted to take his lunch at his table, which resolved that problem nicely. He thanked her and she returned a few minutes later with a platter of meats, cheeses, bread, and fruit. The scholarly man also took lunch upstairs, still scribbling furiously, now on his fourth roll of parchment by Khalid’s count.

The lunch hour passed, and the lords returned to the round table. The woman and Grape-Head returned to the seats they’d been in before. If possible, Grape-Head was watching him more intently than before, the Conference below seemingly forgotten.

Khalid wasn’t sure how long passed, but eventually, he saw from the corner of his eye as Grape-Head stood and rounded the balcony toward him. Without asking, Grape-Head sank down into the chair across the table from Khalid. “I don’t believed I’ve seen you before,” Grape-Head mused quietly.

“Yeah,” Khalid allowed, “this is my first time coming here.”

“I see.” Grape-Head regarded him like something unsavory stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Normally, _commoners_ aren’t allowed up here.” Khalid just grinned broadly. Of course, he was one of _those_ kinds of nobles. Grape-Head, he decided, might have been a pretty handsome guy, if not for an unfortunate personality and an even more unfortunate haircut. Serious, who decided a bowl cut was the way to go?

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Khalid assured him.

Grape-Head didn’t look too amused. “Do you know who I am?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll have you know, I am Lor-”

“Oh, sh-sh,” Khalid cut him off, partly to annoy Grape-Head, and partly to avoid having to introduce himself in return, earning an indignant scowl as he focused his attention back on the Conference below. “I’m trying to listen.”

“You can’t speak to me like-”

“Look,” Khalid sighed, “either be quiet so I can hear, or go away.” He thought Grape-Head's brain might implode, but the boy fell silent, sinking into his chair with his arms crossed.

Eventually, silence fell over the lords as they read over copies of a paper that had been passed around. Khalid turned to grape-head. “Say,” he muttered, drawing a glare from the boy, “you’ve been to these before, right?” The boy nodded stiffly. “I’m sure you know who all the lords are. I’m having trouble putting names to faces.”

Grape-Head brightened a little, now that Khalid had stroked his ego a little. “Of course.” He leaned forward, pointing out each of the lords in turn. “Directly facing us is Duke Oswald von Riegan of the Alliance’s leading house. To his left is former Duke Bertrand Goneril.” That would be fuchsia hair. “He abdicated his title to his son, General Holst Goneril a few years ago, after an injury he sustained on the front lines made it difficult for him to travel often. He fills in when General Goneril is busy on the boarder.” Of course, Khalid was very familiar with General Holst Goneril. His name was feared, and even somewhat revered in Almyra. Almyrans honored strength, after all; the man had a fearsome reputation and the skill to back it up. “The woman sitting over there is Lady Abigail Goneril, his wife.

“Next,” Grape-Head continued, pointing to the black-haired man, “is Count Ernest von Ordelia. Then there is Margrave Horus von Edmund. House Edmund is the most recent addition to the five great houses, after House Daphnel gave up their seat. Finally…” Grape-Head drew himself up proudly, puffing out his chest slightly, “is Count Phineas Gloucester-”

“Let me guess,” Khalid muttered, “your father?”

“Indeed,” Grape-Head said, quite pleased. Conversation down below began once again, and the boys fell silent.

After a while the discussion started dying down. The old man cleared his throat loudly. “Before we bring this Conference to a close, gentlemen,” he said, voice carrying clearly for the first time, “I have an announcement to make.” The other lords shifted in their seats, shooting glances at each other. “As you know, I lost my son in a most tragic incident last year. His passing, however, reconnected me with my estranged daughter.” The woman, who had still been reading her book and taking the occasional glance at Khalid sat up straight at that, eyes locking on the old man.

“So the rumors are true, then?” Count Gloucester asked in the silence that fell.

“Rumors?” Duke Riegan asked, playing dumb rather convincingly. “I wasn’t aware of any rumors.” No one responded, just watched with wary eyes. Count Gloucester looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “My daughter, in her absence, has been blessed with a son. After learning of Godfrey’s passing, my grandson has chosen to accept his birthright as heir of House Riegan. It is my intent to officially legitimize him at the next Round Table Conference.” There was silence for about five seconds before chaos ensued, a cacophony of voices fighting for dominance over each other.

The old man held up his hand, and the voices trailed off. “I know what you all must think,” he sighed, looking at each of them in turn. “I will, of course, speak with any of you who wish to do so, in an hour’s time. With that, I adjourn this Conference.” Without waiting for a response, the old man stood and hobbled away.

Grape-Head’s looked about as enraged as his father. “Can you believed this?” he huffed. “House Riegan is on the verge of collapse, and Duke Riegan manages to pull an heir out of thin air?”

“Incredible,” Khalid agreed, smiling politely.

“There’s something dubious going on,” he insisted. “My father will certainly get to the bottom of it, mark my words.”

“I’m sure.” It was childish, but Khalid couldn’t resist. His grandfather had instructed him not to tell anyone his name until after he’d made the announcement and, well... the announcement’s been made. “I’m sorry, I’ve been very rude,” he said suddenly, as if just realizing it. “I didn’t give you a chance to introduce yourself.”

Grape-Head looked vindicated. “I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester,” he said, offering a small tip of his head with a flourish of his hand.

Khalid offered out his hand to shake, which the boy did with only a hint of superiority. With a grin like a fox, Khalid introduced himself. “Claude von Riegan.” It was like watching glass shatter in slow-motion. Lorenz went very pale, his smug smile faltered. He made the same sour, puckered face his father had made before.

“I see,” he managed like he was choking on the words. “I apologize for my careless words.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Khalid assured him with a wink as he stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some _dubious_ matters to attend to.” He left Lorenz gobsmacked, feeling that any hell he caught from his grandfather would be worth it.

His grandfather was already behind his desk when Khalid slipped into his office. The old man didn’t even look up. “So, what was the look on the Gloucester boy’s face when you told him?”

Khalid wondered how his grandfather had known. He was deceptively sharp, so perhaps it shouldn’t have come as shock. “Fantastic,” Khalid admitted with a grin, sinking down onto the settee. “He makes that same lemon-pucker face his father makes.” The old man chuckled, further surprising Khalid; he wasn’t entirely sure the man had a sense of humor.

“I’m sure the boy’s run off to his father to tell him all about you by now,” the old man sighed. “When the other lords come, do mind your tongue.”

“You’re not mad?” Khalid asked, not really caring either way, but it was an unexpected twist.

The old man’s mouth curled up in a small smile. “Perhaps I should be,” he admitted, “but, goddess, I _loathe_ that family.”

~OoO~

**Eighteen Years Earlier**

Tiana kept her mind occupied in the training hall, hacking training dummies to bits with her trusty, old axe. The guards who typically occupied the hall gave her a wide breadth, muttering under their breaths about how she was in another one of her 'moods.' Normally, she would turn her axe on them for insulting her, but she found her heart really wasn't in it.

Abigail watched quietly, her soft gray eyes full of concern. Abby may have been her dearest friend, but even she knew better than to recklessly try and soothe Tiana's rage; no, it was far better to wait out the storm, _then_ try and soothe her.

Tiana swung her axe until her arms were sore, shoulder stiff. With a huff, she let it fall to the ground, a small poof of dust stirring up around it. "Feel better now?" Abby asked patiently as Tiana gulped down mouthfuls of stale water from a waterskin.

Tiana glanced up at her, silent for a moment. "What makes you think I've need to feel better?" Abby raised an eyebrow, shooting knowing glances at the dismembered corpses of valiant training dummies, their straw innards strewn savagely through the dirt. Tiana sighed. "No, I don't feel better."

"Are you going to tell me why you've been moping around the past couple weeks?" Tiana slunk to the bench and plopped down next to her friend, leaning on her shoulder. Abby crinkled her nose at the smell of sweat that clung to her, but didn't push Tiana away. Still, Tiana offered no explanation. "It's about your marriage, isn't it? You've been in a state ever since your father arranged it."

"I've every right to be in a state!" Tiana protested. "I had no say in the matter."

"It's not all bad, love," Abby said softly, petting Tiana's sweat-damp hair with only a slight look of disgust.

"Easy for you to say," Tiana snorted, pushing away from her friend's gentle touches. "You were allowed to court your husband before your father married you off, and Bertrand worships the ground you walk on."

Abby smiled that far away smile she always got whenever her husband was mentioned. "He is pretty amazing, isn't he? Oh, last week, Holst said the funniest-"

"Abby," Tiana snapped. "No offense, can we perhaps not talk about how perfect your life is for five minutes?"

"Right, you'd rather talk about how miserable yours is." Abby sighed. "Alright, let's hear it. Poor Tiana, having to marry a handsome, rich man and never have to want for anything for the rest of her life."

Tiana glared at her. "Phineas Gloucester is a chauvinist pig. He can take his _noble heritage_ and shove it so far up his-"

"Tia," Abby scolded, as she always did when the woman fell into one of her more crass tirades.

"I don't love him, Abby," Tiana finally admitted, voice terribly small, eyes downcast. "My father only wants me to marry him in the hopes I'll be able to influence his opinions when he takes his father's stop at the round table. Abby, I… I love someone else."

Abby blinked in surprise at the news. Over the years, Tiana and Abby had shared just about everything with each other. Secrets, crushes, gossip. Abby was like the older sister she'd never had. "Wha… who?"

"I… I can't say." And, really, how could she? How could she tell her best friend, wife of the man whose duty it was to defend the boarder, that she'd fallen in love with the enemy, an Almyran man? "I've been seeing him in secret for the past year."

"I can't believe it," Abby muttered, staring at her friend as if she'd grown a second head. "Why didn't you tell me?" Tiana didn't answer, just hung her head. "What, is he some commoner or something, and you were worried what I would think?"

"Er… something like that."

"You should have told me, Tia. I'm your friend."

"I know. I'm sorry…"

Abby grabbed her hand. "So, you've been upset because you had to break it off."

"No." Abby stared at her, confused. "I didn't break it off. I… Abby, he asked me to marry him."

"But you're marrying Phineas."

Tiana licked her lips. "No, I'm not. I would rather die an old maid than marry that man." Clearly, Abby still wasn't getting it. "I'm leaving next month."

Abby was very silent. For a moment, Tiana thought she wasn't going to speak, thought that she was going to get up and leave and never speak to her again. "You're running away? Were you planning on telling me this?"

"I just told you."

"But you weren't going to, were you?" It took a lot to get Abby mad, genuinely mad, but Tiana had always had a knack for it. "You were just going to disappear one day without anyone ever knowing where you went."

"I… Look, this hasn't been easy for me," Tiana snapped. "But I want to be with him more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I'm not you, I can't be happy with an arranged marriage."

Abby's eyes softened as she held her friend's gaze. "Is he a good man?" Tiana nodded. After a long moment, Abby drew her into a tight hug. "Then you should be with him. I won't tell anyone what I know. Just promise me you'll be happy."

"I will," Tiana promised, letting warm tears streak down her cheek. "I will."


	10. Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid is assessed, several times.
> 
> CW: panic attacks, violence against a child, racism

Khalid and his grandfather met with the other lords very briefly. The general vibe was uneasy, wary, and suspicious, which is no less than they were expecting. Count Gloucester made a big show of being cordial and Lord Goneril studied him quietly from the side, leaning heavily on a finely-carved cane that Khalid would have bet good money on being Almyran craftsmanship; despite being a closed boarder, Almyran goods had a tendency to find their way through the Throat when it benefited the nobles on the other side. The other two lords, Count Ordelia and Margrave Edmund, didn’t seem too bothered either way.

It was Lady Goneril, however, that stood out to Khalid. She, like her husband, _stared._ Not out of suspicion, Khalid realized, though he couldn’t quite place it. It was like she was searching for something in him, trying to unravel him with her eyes. He tried not to stare back at her, but something about her intensity kept drawing his eyes back.

It wouldn’t be until Khalid mentioned it to his grandfather in the carriage on their way back to the manor that he learned what Lady Goneril’s deal was. “Abigail was your mother’s friend when they were young girls,” he explained. “She was devastated when your mother left, though I always suspected she knew more than she let on. I found it hard to believe that your mother never said anything to her, as close as they were.”’

Khalid was silent for a moment. “Mother was engaged, before she ran away,” he mused, recalling the story his father had told him before he left. “Who was she supposed to marry?”

The corners of the old man’s lips tugged down as he regarded his grandson. “I hardly see how that matters.” He offered no more explanation than that, and Khalid didn’t press.

In the following month, Khalid and his grandfather took yet another trip into Derdriu, to meet with the Crest scholar who had tested him before, Andres Varton, as well as a few of his fellow scholars in their small office set in Derdriu’s massive library.

Andres was just as squirrelly as Khalid remembered him to be, fidgeting and chattering excitedly. Khalid expected another blood-drawing, but that didn’t turn out to be the case. Instead, he was brought to a strange device set into the middle of the floor. The device glimmered in the light from the sconces, a plate of bronze engraved with lines that reminded him of a target. It thrummed with magic.

“Alright, Clause-”

“Claude.”

“Right. Just hold your arm out over this Crest Analyzer, and we’ll have our answer.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Andres smiled. “It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about. We use this to test children of noble houses during their infancy.” That, at least, quelled Khalid’s worry that these strange Fódlan people weren’t draining blood from newborns to check for magic properties.

Khalid stared at it, bewildered. “How…?”

“Well, the magic behind it is rather complicated, unless you’re studied in Reason, but basically it reacts to the Crest in the blood and forces it to manifest.” None of that made a lick of sense to Khalid. “It’ll make more sense to see it.”

Khalid looked down at his right hand. Like before, it was his curiosity more than anything that drew his arm forward over the device. Cold, purple tendrils of magic swirled in the air, and the scholars stared unblinkingly, expectantly. Warmth seeped through Khalid’s chest, burning white-hot, but not painful. It was… sickeningly familiar.

He almost couldn’t believe his eyes when a burst of light appeared in front of him in the shape of the crescent moon that he’d become so accustomed to seeing. The Crest of Riegan.

Khalid’s hand pressed tight to his stomach as he stumbled away. Nausea rolled over him like a wave, and he was barely aware of the scholars murmuring something about a minor Crest. He could feel his grandfather’s judging gaze on him, but he didn’t care. He pushed his way out of the office, letting his feet carry him deep into the library without destination until he found a plush armchair in a secluded wing, quiet and empty.

He focused on breathing. He focused on not puking. He focused on trying not to think about how horribly, painfully familiar that felt. In fact, he tried not to think at all.

~OoO~  
  


**Seven Years Earlier**

His screams were muffled by a hand clamped tight over his mouth. He squirmed in the man’s grasp, desperately trying to wiggle his way free. The man laughed at his feeble attempts, made some joke he couldn’t quite hear over the pounding of his heart and his own cries.

“The royal mutt’s quite the little fighter,” the other man laughed, stalking closer. He was in no hurry, he had all the time in the world. Blood dripped down from the arrow wound in his shoulder. He grinned a sinister grin before punching Khalid in the stomach. “Should have been a good little prince and behaved.” The knife in his other hand gleamed in the sun, its serrated edge jagged and sharp.

Tears rolled down Khalid’s cheeks, his frantic struggles dying down as cold fingers of dread crawled down his back. “Aw, how cruel. You’re scaring him, Kaif,” the man holding him taunted. “Gonna piss yourself, _your highness_?” The men howled with laughter.

The man with the knife, Kaif, ran the blade across the boy’s cheek soft as a feather, the serrated teeth of it just barely ghosting over his skin without tearing through. They laughed more as he sobbed, now clawing at the hands that held him to no avail. “What a little crybaby,” Kaif scolded. “Honestly, Imad, I think we’re doing the king a favor. A son who’s a half-breed _and_ a coward? Shameful.”

Kaif drew the blade down Khalid’s neck, poking at the divot of his collarbone with the tip. He could feel warm blood trickle down where the skin broke. “Maybe speed it up a little, Kaif,” Imad prompted. “I’d rather not lose my head over the little fucker.”

Kaif sighed, looking as if he was being denied his favorite pastime. “Fine.” He sneered down at Khalid. “It’s been a pleasure, _your highness_.” In a last-ditch effort, Khalid started wreathing and wrenching in Imad’s grasp once more.

Khalid barely registered it as the serrated blade plunged into his stomach. It wasn’t until Kaif _twisted_ that his brain caught up with what was happening.

Words could not describe the pain. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think. His vision blurred and cold seeped through him as if he’d been plunged into ice water. He was dying.

Lights danced in front of his eyes… The men cursed… Warmth burst in his chest, searing hot and soothing...

And Khalid wasn’t dying anymore.

~OoO~

Until that day, Khalid thought he’d imagined the lights, the warmth, the sudden return of strength to his numb limbs. He thought it had been adrenaline. Hell, he’d have even gone as far as suggesting divine intervention.

He’d never been able to explain how, once he was safe, the wound had already begun to scab over, the skin knit itself back together, looking as if it was _days_ old, not hours. _S_ _hould someone with the Crest of Riegan be injured in battle, they may find the wound begin to heal itself._

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but by the time his grandfather shambled toward him, preceded by his tell-tale _clop-clop-tap_ on the tile, Khalid’s breathing had returned to normal and his hands had stopped shaking. The old man regarded him for a moment, eyebrow arched, but said nothing. He just gestured broadly for Khalid to follow him and turned back the way he’d come.

~OoO~

A few weeks before the next Round Table Conference where he was to be officially legitimized as Claude von Riegan, heir to House Riegan, Khalid entered his grandfather’s study for their daily lesson to find an unfamiliar man talking to the old duke.

“Ah, Claude,” his grandfather muttered, pausing mid-sentence as Khalid closed the door behind himself. “I’d like you to meet an acquaintance of mine.” The man smiled warmly up at Khalid. He was a large and broad-shouldered man, with nicely combed brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and a thin mustache. His blue eyes sparkled with mirth. “This is Sir Alois Rangeld of the Knights of Seiros.”

Khalid took a seat in the chair next to the man. To Khalid’s understanding, the Knights of Seiros were a big deal. They were said to be the best of the best, and protected Garreg Mach Monastery at the heart of Fódlan. While his grandfather wasn’t particularly devout – which meant he, thankfully, didn’t expect Khalid to be – it was expected of the nobles of Fódlan to follow the teachings of the Church of Seiros, and the old man was no exception.

“Please, Your Grace,” the knight said, voice booming and jovial, “just Alois is fine.” Alois turned to Khalid and offered out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lord von Riegan.”

He shook the man’s hand. “Just Claude is fine.”

The man laughed. “Alright, it’s a pleasure to meet you, _Just_ Claude.”

The old man cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I appreciate you taking the time to come pay us a visit on such short notice.”

“Of course, Your Grace, of course.” The man rubbed the back of his neck. “Though, I must say, it is rather unorthodox to submit the necessary paperwork in separate parts… much less this late in the year. Normally, applications would need to have been submitted months ago. I’m not sure I’ll be able to be of much help.”

The old man regarded him for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Khalid butted in. “Applications?”

Alois arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know?” Khalid shrugged. “For the Officers Academy.” That rang a bell; his grandfather had mentioned it briefly at some point during their history lessons. It was formed nearly a hundred years prior to train Fódlan youths for future military positions. It had been founded during a time when the ongoing battle between Almyra and the Alliance had been particularly brutal.

The old man didn’t give Khalid a chance to ask more questions. “I understand it’s rather short notice,” he allowed, “but I’m sure you’ll agree the situation has been rather unexpected. I’ve rushed along legitimizing the boy as my heir as much as possible, and all of the paperwork will be in order by the end of the month.”

“There are already so many other applicants waiting who’ve had their applications in for moons. Perhaps, you could wait until the following term-”

“I’m not as young as I look,” the old man joked, smiling a little. “If it’s put off too much longer, I may well be dead before then.”

Alois, to his credit, _tried_ not to laugh, but the Duke’s disarming – and uncharacteristic – smile got the best of him. “I’m sure you have many more healthy years ahead of you, Your Grace.” The man glanced between the two of them. “But, I suppose, since the selection process hasn’t begun quite yet, that an exception may be made, given the circumstance.”

“Thank you, Alois. I appreciate this more than you know.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Alois turned to Khalid. “I don’t suppose you’re ready for an assessment of your abilities, young man?”

Khalid blinked, shooting a look at the old man, who nodded ever-so-slightly. He grinned at Alois. “Born ready.”

The man laughed, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “Excellent.”

The assessment began with a series of questions about various military and combat situations and how Khalid would handle them, he guessed to test his strategic ability. That one, he was reasonably sure he aced, as the man’s eyes would practically sparkle upon hearing some of Khalid’s answers.

After that, they moved out to the training hall, where Khalid demonstrated some of his combat skills. He stuck primarily to his bow, but Alois pressed to see some swordplay, as well as some spear-and axe-work. He was abysmal with a spear, which he already knew – that had always been more Hassan’s thing than his own. He wasn’t entirely awful with axes, however; his mother had made sure of that.

Magic was a big flop. He could conjure a small puff of wind, and little else. Alois patted him on the shoulder, reassuring him that magic wasn’t for everyone; he himself was pretty magically inept by his own admission. Riding, when they got to that, went much smoother. While Khalid was still rather uneasy around horses, having to ride them if he deigned to go into town had at least gotten him used to the ones in his grandfather’s stable. Zahra was pretty excited to meet a new friend, when Alois asked if he had experience with wyverns, and they made sure to give Alois a good show.

Khalid liked Alois, he decided. He reminded him a bit of Nader, and the realization sent a pang of homesickness through Khalid that he did his best to brush away. When Alois was satisfied, they returned to the old man’s study. “I must say, I’m quite impressed,” Alois admitted, standing by the door. “I will do my utmost to see that Claude’s application is accepted.”

“You have my most sincere thanks, Alois,” the old man said, tipping his head. “While I have you here… I believe I have not yet offered my annual donation to the Church.” He gestured to a small wooden box, no bigger than a loaf of bread, that had most certainly not been there when they left the room. “Would you mind terribly taking it with you back to Garreg Mach?”

Alois bowed slightly. “Of course, Your Grace.” He scooped up the small box, its contents rattling heavily inside, and tucked it under his arm. “Now, I must be on my way. Good evening.” They bid him goodbye, and one of the maids showed him out.

Khalid sank down into the chair once more. “I suppose that donation is meant to tip things more in your favor?” he guessed.

The old man smiled, wry and knowing. “Just a simple, charitable donation, as all the lords of noble houses offer the Church.”

“You never told me you intended for me to go to the Officers Academy.”

“Of course,” the old man said, as if it should have been obvious. “I went when I was a young man. Your uncle, your mother-”

“My mother went?”

“Nearly every noble youth goes. The other four great lords, Judith. And even outside of the Alliance. The late King Lambert of the Kingdom, Emperor Ionius IX of the Empire. You’d be hard-pressed to find a noble who hasn’t attended. And, of course, plenty of commoners attend, as well.”

“Right.”

“It is nearly time for dinner. I won’t bore you with a history lesson tonight, I suppose. You’re dismissed.” Khalid left, heading toward the library to see if he could dig up some books about Garreg Mach Monastery. It wasn’t very difficult.


	11. Who You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid makes connections.

The maids were in a bustle in the days leading up to the next Round Table Conference, and Khalid wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Everything thing was cleaned top to bottom thrice over, scrubbed and dusted and polished until everything seemed to sparkle. Deliveries of fine food were made, and the head butler – an uptight middle-aged man named Varrick whose nose scrunched up unabashedly whenever he had to speak with Khalid – oversaw each and every one, meticulously checking every item off a checklist.

When he asked Addie what she knew, she would just purse her lips and apologize that she couldn’t tell him. Three days before the Conference, the old man finally deigned to tell him.

“A party,” Khalid muttered dryly when the man finished his explanation.

“More or less.”

“Why?”

“Very few of the Alliances’ nobles have been able to meet you,” he explained. “You are at a severe disadvantage having not grown up around these people. Connections are very important to our political endeavors, after all. The lords of other houses will be more inclined to help you down the road if they know you. Those kinds of connections don’t just happen overnight. A small… soirée is a good place to start.”

As much disdain as Khalid held for parties, the old man’s logic was sound. Though, he highly doubted he would have quite the same problem at a _soir_ _é_ _e_ in Fódlan as he’d had at the various festivities he’d been forced to sit through as a child; if anything, the biggest threat he faced was death by boredom, being stuck talking to a bunch of stuffy nobles for the evening.

Lady Judith returned to the manor the day before the Conference. Over dinner, she told the old man of the fruits of her labor; lying that she’d looked into the matter of Khalid’s birth and found the – very false – claims to be true. Loathe as the other lords were to believe it, they had no choice in the absence of contradictory evidence.

She gave Khalid a sharp look over the table. “You’d best not screw this up, boy,” she warned him, pointing her fork at him threateningly, and he had no doubt she could probably end him with it if she was particularly inclined. “I put my reputation on the line for your sake. Don’t make me regret it.”

Khalid flashed her as charming a smile as he could manage. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Judith.”

“That’s _Lady_ Judith to you, boy.”

The morning of the Conference, Addie laid out a fine suit. She fretted and worried over him, straightening his cravat though it was already perfectly straight, shining buttons though they already gleamed. Eventually, she let him go and he met up with his grandfather and Lady Judith in the entrance hall.

“You’re coming as well, _Lady_ Judith?”

She smirked, hand on her hip. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

His grandfather, on the other hand, scowled. “Get rid of that ridiculous braid and earring,” he scolded. “They are unbecoming of the nobility.” It wasn’t the first time the old man pitched a fit over them, and Khalid was certain it wouldn’t be the last. He did what he always did when it came up; ignored the old man.

The three of them climbed into the carriage, the old man still shooting dissatisfied looks at Khalid, but he said nothing further. It was a silent trip into Derdriu. They made their way into the capitol building, lined with more carriages than had been there the last time.

As Judith and Khalid reached the observation balcony, it became clear why. Nearly every table was filled, as opposed to the three occupants that sat there last time. They were all dressed in finery that screamed of the nobility. Khalid was able to make out the grape-headed boy from before, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, and with him sat a similarly grape-headed young woman, her hair cut in a sharp, severe bob that ended just above her shoulders. Lady Goneril was absent, but he could just make out a shock of pink hair peeking out from behind a pillar that reminded him of Lord Goneril, and he wondered if the person it belonged to was related.

Eyes and whispers followed Khalid and Judith as they found their own table, but no one came over to talk to them. Khalid focused his attention down below, putting on an air of unaffected composure. Where Lord Goneril had been before, a decidedly younger man sat, and Khalid guessed it was the current Duke and General, Holst Goneril.

The Conference was called to order, and the whispers around them died. Everyone waited, listening respectfully to the meeting down below, sipping impatiently on cups of tea. Even the lords down below seemed to shift in their seats as it drug on and on.

Eventually, shortly after their break for lunch, they reached the end of the day’s business and the old man announced the last matter at hand. A servant came up to fetch Khalid and Judith, and they made their way down to the round table, taking seats that had been set along side his grandfathers.

From there, it was just a blur of paperwork. The lords took turns scrutinizing the documents provided by his grandfather. Papers were signed. A notary looked over everything and provided his stamp. And, like that, Khalid – Claude von Riegan – was officially the heir of House Riegan.

Khalid had done absolutely nothing, to the point he wasn’t sure why he had to be there at all, aside from his grandfather’s posturing. The Conference was called to a close, hands were shaken, and everyone went their separate ways.

All that was left was to prepare for the _soir_ _é_ _e_ once they returned to the manor.

Khalid milled around, watching as the last of the preparations were finished. Guards, both those he recognized from his daily life and those unfamiliar to him, discussed shifts for the security of the evening. He was surprised by a familiar face scowling at him from across the room, the captain from the checkpoint who stopped Khalid on the road as he made his way to Derdriu. Gods, that had been just over a year before.

He watched her as she finished barking out orders to her subordinates before she stalked over to him. He smiled brightly as she approached. “Captain Mara, wasn’t it?”

“Cal Spearman,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Or, should I say, Claude von Riegan?" She shook her head in exasperation. "I knew it was a fake name.”

“Of course you did,” he allowed, laughing lightly, “otherwise you wouldn’t be very good at your job. You can understand why I had to lie, though.”

“Hmph.” Addie shifted uncomfortably next to him, confused and uneasy. “Your accent’s gotten better,” was all she said before turning on her heel and leaving them once more.

“What was that about?” Addie wondered.

“Oh, you know… I lied to her about my name, she tied me to a table.” That didn’t seem to answer Addie’s question, and Khalid left her staring, wide-eyed and even more concerned than she’d been, before she hurriedly scrambled after him.

Khalid was standing at his grandfather’s side with Judith at the foot of the stairs as the first of the guest started to arrive that evening. Soft violin music drifted through the entrance hall, and the maids carried trays with hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne. The old man greeted each of the guests in turn, sending Khalid and Judith off to ‘mingle’ once the crowd filled out a little.

Judith provided idle commentary from a distance, pointing out lords of minor houses who held smaller tracts of land throughout the Alliance. Khalid recognized most of the names she mentioned from his lessons with his grandfather, though a few were unknown.

The purple-haired Gloucester family was easy to spot across the crowd, and Khalid and Judith tried their best to ‘mingle’ in the opposite direction from them. Their ‘mingling’ brought them to General Holst. Up close, Khalid was able to get a better look at the man. He was about a head taller than Khalid, with broad shoulders and muscles that pulled the sleeves of the dress shirt under his waistcoat taut. His hair was pink and rather fluffy, the ends curling around his ears, side-swept bangs held out of his pale gray eyes with a subtle black clip. The length of his hair was pulled back neatly with a ribbon. Black stud earrings gleamed in his earlobes under the brilliant cast of the chandelier. His chin was a few days overgrown with well-groomed pink stubble. Somehow, in contrast to his reputation as a fearsome warrior, the man’s face was light-hearted and carefree, almost boyish.

Next to him stood a young woman with almost violently pink hair, twisted into to long braids and bedecked with white flowers, and eyes to match. She smiled brightly, standing in a way that seemed to intentionally highlight her slender waist and generous curves in her clearly expensive fuchsia dress. Despite the delicate way she seemed to present herself, he could see the muscle tone in her slender arms.

“Holst,” Judith greeted brightly, smirking at the man. “Good of you to actually bother showing up this month.”

The man laughed, shaking Judith’s hand. “Wouldn’t have missed this one for the world.” His eyes fell on Khalid, and he certainly didn’t look thrilled to see him. He offered Khalid his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Khalid tried for a winning smile. “General Goneril, it’s great to finally meet you,” he said, laying it on a bit thick. The man’s grip on Khalid’s hand was too tight, though Khalid tried not to let the pain show on his face. “You’ve got quite the impressive reputation.”

“None of the General crap,” he dismissed. “Holst.”

“Works for me.”

He put his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And this is my sister-”

“Hilda,” the girl butted in, holding her hand up expectantly. With a small smirk, Khalid did the gentleman-y thing and took her hand, brushing his lips lightly over her knuckles. She looked rather pleased with herself, though Holst most certainly didn’t.

Before either Khalid or Holst could do anything about it, Hilda wound her arm through Khalid’s and started steering him through the crowd with a small wave over her shoulder to her brother. He could feel Holst’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, but the girl didn’t seem too concerned.

“I don’t think I’m his favorite person right now,” he noted as they walked.

“Don’t mind my brother,” she dismissed. “He’s just grumpy because, before you showed up, everyone thought he was a shoe-end for Duke Riegan’s spot at the Round Table when His Grace dies. Well, really, it was between him and Count Gloucester.” She made a face. “Anyway, my brother’s not the type to hold a grudge. Unless you’re Almyran.”

Khalid resisted the urge to laugh. “Good to know.”

They walked slowly. Honestly, Khalid was mostly just curious about why the strange pink girl decided to latch herself onto him at the first opportunity, and wanted to see how it played out. “People are staring at us,” he told her quietly.

She smiled. “Of course they are.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not really.” She snagged them each a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing maid.

“So,” he prompted when it seemed that she wasn’t going to offer an explanation on her own, “what is it you’re doing, exactly?”

Her eyes sparkled when she looked at him, regarding him as she took a long sip of her drink. “I’m doing you a huge favor.”

“I see.” In fact, he really didn’t see. “I don’t remember asking for a favor.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.”

“And what is this huge favor, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She was silent for a moment, considering her words. “Ever hear the saying ‘it’s all about who you know and who you blow?’”

He laughed, surprised. His impression of Fódlan noblewomen was that they were all supposed to be prim and proper ladies. Granted, his mother had never really been like that... Regardless, that wasn’t at all what he would have expected to come out of her mouth. “I have. Should I be concerned that you have?”

“Please,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “I grew up around soldiers near the front. Anyway, the Alliance is a lot like that. No one gets very far if they don’t have the right connections. I’m giving you a little… head start.”

It was just like what his grandfather had told him, baffling him even further. “And what do you get out of this?” he asked. “A favor implies that I’m going to be repaying in kind.”

“Of course. How many people can say the future Sovereign Duke owes them one?”

He shook his head, finding himself intrigued by the strange pink-haired girl. “Who you know and who you blow,” he muttered.

She looked entirely too pleased with herself, until her smile faltered into a scowl as she looked around the room. “Ugh, Lorenz is making his way over.”

Sure enough, he and the uncannily similar looking young woman were picking their way through the crowd, making a beeline toward them. By the time they reached them, Hilda had schooled her face back into a prim smile. “Hilda,” Lorenz greeted, bowing lightly. “Lovely as always.” He turned to Khalid. “And Claude.”

“Good to see you again, Lorenz.” The young woman stood, looking annoyed and disinterested. “And you are…”

“Aliza Maybelle Gloucester.” Did the whole family always insist on introducing themselves with their full name? If Khalid had to guess, he’d say probably.

“My cousin,” Lorenz explained, though nobody had asked. That actually surprised Khalid; they looked similar enough they could have been siblings. Maybe even twins, if she wasn't clearly several years older.

“You attended the Officers Academy with my brother,” Hilda mused, “didn’t you, Aliza?”

“I did.” She didn’t seem too interested in talking about it… or anything, really.

Hilda turned to Khalid. “My brother was the Golden Deer’s house leader that year.” He didn’t really know what she was talking about; his grandfather hadn’t exactly gone into the logistics of the Officers Academy when they spoke of it. He just nodded along as if he understood. “I swear, any time it comes up, he just _has_ to regale everyone with the story of how he ‘led the Deer to victory’ at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.”

Aliza scoffed. “That certainly sounds like Holst.” She glanced over at the man, where he still stood chatting with Judith, an appraising look in her deep purple eyes. “Though, perhaps I will go catch up with my… dear old friend.” She pushed past Lorenz and the three of them were left alone.

Lorenz regarded them for a moment. “You know, I heard that acceptance letter for the Officers Academy should be going out some time in the coming moon.” He drew himself up proudly. “I’ve no doubt that I’ve been accepted, of course.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Hilda sighed, scowling. “If I get accepted, I swear, I will never forgive Holst. He just _had_ to go and convince Mother and Father that I need to go. It’s going to be so much _work_.”

Lorenz pursed his lips. “That’s hardly an attitude befitting a woman of your status,” he chided. “You should be honored for the chance to attend such a prestigious program.”

“But, just look at me, Lorenz! I’m a delicate little flower. I’m not cut out for a military academy!” Even after only spending half an hour with the girl, Khalid got the impression that her statement wasn’t even remotely true.

“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” he assured her.

Lorenz’s face fell. “You’ve applied as well?”

“Of course. After all, it is an honor to have the chance to attend such a prestigious program.” Lorenz’s face flickered through a few emotions before he collected himself. He very abruptly excused himself to go speak with his father. “What’s his problem?”

Hilda looked ready to burst out laughing. “He realized he just lost his chance of being house leader,” she explained, grinning like her birthday had come early. “House leader goes to the student with the highest status, and you’re all the way at the top.”

Khalid’s brow furrowed. “Goneril is a duchy. Gloucester is a county. Wouldn’t that put you over Lorenz?”

She shrugged. “I’m not in line for my family’s title. Lorenz _is_.” She squeeze Khalid’s arm. “I am suddenly much more excited at the thought of going. I think it’s going to be a fun year.”


	12. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid gets to know his new friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Racism, racial stereotyping.

In the weeks that followed the party, Hilda and Lorenz both started to become common sights in the Riegan manor, though for different reasons.

Lorenz, Khalid and his grandfather were sure, was only playing nice because his father told him to. The more time he spent around Khalid, the better chance he had to dig up his secrets. Thankfully, the staff seemed to be very loyal, and Khalid was surprised to learn that most of them just flat-out _didn’t know_ he was Almyran. And, as Khalid had long-since mastered his Fódlan accent, his tutoring lessons with Vincent were a thing of the past.

When Lorenz visited, Khalid played the part of the perfect host – his grandfather would have had his hide if he didn’t – and kept his teasing under a threshold he spent a lot of time poking and prodding to determine. They would spend their time horseback riding, reading, or sparing. Khalid and Addie took to placing bets before he arrived as to how many times he would mention a _noble’s duty_ over the course of his visit.

While he would usually come alone, Khalid also got the opportunity to meet more of the Gloucester family than he would have cared to. Aliza was often sent along with him, and she would keep her distance from them as much as humanly possible, which didn’t bother Khalid in the slightest. Her attitude hadn’t improved much since the party (Hilda regaled Khalid later of the story of how Holst soundly shot her down after she’d left them), and while he was used to people looking down their noses at him, Aliza took that to a whole new level - though, she sort of did the same to Lorenz, so he supposed it wasn't personal.

On a few occasions, Lorenz brought with him his younger brother, Percival, a boy of fourteen with hair much darker than his brother’s. Percival seemed to adore Lorenz, hung on his every word. In general, he seemed to be a bright, overly-eager kid. One trip saw Khalid and Lorenz showing his younger sisters, Tiffany and Janice, both around nine or ten with light lavender hair and big brown eyes, around Derdriu for a day trip.

Then there was Hilda Valentine Goneril. Khalid still wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. He doubted her brother was sending her to spy on him the way Lorenz was. Her motives didn’t seem politically motivated at all, though the old man wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t simply fishing for a future husband in high places. If he’d spent any time around her, he’d see that marriage didn’t seem to be on the forefront of her mind.

If Khalid had to guess… she was just _bored_. She was perfectly content spending her visits lounging around eating sweets, taking walks over the sprawling grounds, shopping in the city, or crafting jewelry and accessories that she would proceed to force on Khalid and Addie so she could see how they looked. She talked a lot, chatting about Alliance gossip and her brother and her friends in Goneril. She wasn’t the type of person Khalid thought he would normally get along with, but Hilda was like a magnet, and she knew it.

Unless her visits happened to overlap with Lorenz’s. The two bickered like an old married couple. It was honestly kind of exhausting, having to play peacekeeper between them and balance the fact that neither of them wanted to do the same things as the other. Thankfully, their visits didn’t overlap often.

Khalid found himself surprised one Sunday morning late in the Red Wolf Moon when he stepped out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and found Hilda sitting primly on the edge of his bed with her back to him. He stopped dead, wondering how she’d gotten in without causing a commotion with the maids, who certainly would have deemed it highly improper for a young lady to go into a boy’s room alone, especially when he was bathing.

“Hilda,” he sighed, running a hand through the wet tangle of his curls, “what are you doing?”

She didn’t turn around, and he could just see the corner of her pleased smile. “I came to see my dear friend, of course.”

“Uh-huh. Why are you in my room?” She just shrugged, examining her perfectly manicured nails. “How’d you manage to ditch the maids?”

“Pfft,” she scoffed, finally glancing over at him, “it’s not like it’s difficult.” That was true enough, he supposed, but Hilda didn’t really strike him as the sneaky type. He stared blankly as her eyes darted over him, and Khalid's ego couldn't help but wonder if she liked what she saw. Until her brow furrowed when her gaze settled over his stomach, and he had to push down the sudden urge to cover himself. “That’s a nasty scar.”

He offered a half-hearted shrug. “Training accident when I was a kid.”

She regarded him for a long moment, head cocked to the side. “I’m curious,” she mused, reaching for something behind her. “Why do you sleep with a knife under your pillow?” The blade gleamed in the morning sunlight when she held it up, turning it over in her slender fingers.

“Do you always make a habit of sneaking into guys’ rooms and rummaging through their belongings, or is it just me?” he shot back, crossing the room toward her.

She grinned up at him. “Don’t answer a question with a question.”

He plucked the knife from her hand. Shameless, he bent over her to tuck it back where it belonged, and was surprised to noticed the way she tensed up, hands twisting into the fabric of her skirts. By the time he straightened up, she was back to her sly smirk and aloof attitude. He tucked that away for later thought, and sat down next to her.

“Call it… paranoia,” he decided, answering her question. “I’d hate to be caught unaware if someone decided to try and kill me.”

“And when did you start getting paranoid about that?” she laughed.

“When I was nine.”

She frowned, and he didn’t miss the way her eyes kept darting down to the scar over his navel. “Didn’t you, like, _just_ find out you were related to Duke Riegan last year or something?” He nodded, wary. “So why were you afraid of being killed when you were a kid?”

He smiled, if only just to stall for an answer. Something he’d noticed over the past couple of months was that Hilda could be scarily sharp when she applied herself, and he’d given too much information. “It was kinda rough, where I grew up,” he decided, not quite a lie. “Better safe than sorry.” She didn’t look entirely satisfied, but she let the topic drop. “Now, can you leave so I can get dressed?”

She smiled again, standing gracefully. “Fine. Come join me for breakfast when you’re done.” She didn’t wait for an answer before striding across the room and taking her leave. Khalid sighed heavily when the door clicked shut behind her, slumping back on the bed. The girl truly was a mystery.

~OoO~

**Seven Years Earlier**

Hilda sat on a bench in the garden, demurely brushing the hair of her dollies, basking in the warm Verdant Moon sun, humming a tune of her own creation. Soldiers and servants alike milled around the courtyard, carrying out their duties.

Hilda’s eye caught on someone across the courtyard, a servant carrying a large basket of linens, freshly washed and dried in the summer heat. The boy was older, she guessed about fourteen or fifteen. His skin was like copper and gleamed with a slight sheen of sweat.

She didn’t recognize the boy, though that wasn’t surprising. Many of the servants in the Goneril house were Almyran children spared on the border. Few of them stayed longer than a few moons, though little Hilda, only ten, wasn’t quite sure where they went after. She’d never spent much time around the Almyrans, though their funny speech always fascinated her when she was close enough to hear it.

As she watched, the sandal on the boy’s foot snapped, and he went sprawling, the fresh linens spilling around him in a flurry of white. A few of the soldiers laughed at his plight while he scrambled to gather the fallen laundry.

Hilda wasn’t sure what possessed her to do so, but she found herself running up to the boy and gathering up armfuls of sheets. She smiled brightly, presenting her bundle to him. He stared blankly up at her from where he knelt on the ground, golden eyes squinting in the sun. “Are you okay, mister?” she asked politely.

He scowled at her, snatching the linens from her arms. He muttered something she didn’t understand, stuffing the now soiled laundry back in its basket and scurrying away, leaving his broken sandal behind in the dirt. She picked it up, staring after him sad and confused.

“Lady Hilda!” one of the soldiers called, racing toward her and grabbing her hand. “Please, milady, you must stay away from the Almyrans. It’s not safe for you.”

Her brow furrowed as she stared up at the soldier. “Why not?” she wondered.

“Almyrans are not to be trusted,” the solider insisted, taking a knee in front of her to speak at her level. “They are savage brutes. They’re bad, milady, the whole lot of them”

She blinked. “That boy didn’t seem like a brute…”

There was a dark look in the man’s eyes. “Looks can be deceiving, milady. Do you have any idea what an Almyran man would do to a young Fódlan lady such as yourself, if given half a chance?” She shook her head slowly, eyes wide.

She never got to find out what they would do - though she would understand his words in the years to come, as more unsavory rumors and stories reached her ears - as a moment later when the guard opened his mouth to speak, a fist rained down on the back of his head, and the man went reeling in pain. He pushed to his feet, furious, cursing his attacker.

Who turned out to be Holst, a boy of seventeen, glaring with all the fury his pretty pink eyes could muster. The man went pale, standing at attention. “Lord Holst, sir,” the soldier stuttered.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Holst scolded, scooping Hilda up in his arms. “Saying such vulgar things to my sweet, innocent little sister.”

“My apologies, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“It had better not.” Holst turned on his heel and carried Hilda away.

Hilda stared down at the sandal still clutched tight in her hands. “Is what the soldier said true, Holst?” she wondered. “Are all Almyrans bad?”

Holst sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered his words. “There are good and bad people everywhere, Hilda,” he said carefully. “War brings out the worst in us all. It’s just… some people’s worst is worse than others.”

Hilda couldn’t get the image of the boy’s sad, angry golden eyes out of her mind. That night, she fixed the sandal as best she could and left it in the courtyard where the boy had lost it the next morning.

She never saw him again, and never found out if he got his shoe back.

~OoO~  
  


Hilda had already started eating when Khalid joined her. She made no reference to their earlier meeting as Khalid sat down and dug into his own plate of food. “So, did you get your letter from the Officer’s Academy yet?” she wondered.

He nodded. It had come just the week before. “You’re looking at this coming year’s house leader of the Golden Deer,” he announced.

“I figured.” She chewed thoughtfully on a piece of fruit. “I got in too,” she added, almost as an after thought. “Ugh, it’s going to be so much work.”

“How _will_ you survive?”

She ignored him and leaned in close. “That’s not all I wanted to talk about,” she dismissed, as if he hadn’t guessed as much. “I heard some interesting gossip the other day that I thought you might like to hear.”

Gossip wasn’t quite his thing, but if she’d thought it deemed a trip necessary, who was he to doubt her? “I’m listening.”

“Word is, the other two house leaders this year aren’t just any old noble kids.” He knew very little about the noble families outside of the Alliance, so he wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to mean. “If the rumors are to be believed, both the Kingdom’s prince and the Empire’s princess are attending this year.”

Khalid sat down his fork, considering this. He _did_ know a bit about those families. Faerghus’ prince, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, orphaned after the death of the king and queen consort almost four years prior, set to take the throne when he turned twenty-one while his uncle acted as regent in his stead. Adrestia’s princess, Edelgard von Hresvelg, somehow next in line for the throne, despite having a litany of older siblings. “That _is_ interesting,” he admitted.

“It’s more than interesting,” Hilda said. “It’s historic. This will be the first time in history the future leader of all three regions attend at the same time. There’s been two people next in line attending the same year a few times, but never all three.”

“This really will be an interesting year, then,” he decided.

~OoO~

The old man took ill again in the following month. Khalid decided he had an uncanny ability to hold himself together long enough to get through something important, then the second it was over, he fell apart. With the Ethereal Moon’s Conference coming up, he called for Judith once more.

This time, however, came with a surprise. She was to take Khalid along with her. He insisted that Khalid needed experience participating in the Conferences. Of course, it came with the condition that Khalid do or say absolutely nothing while it was in session. Everything would be handled by Judith, as always. Khalid was just there to observe and get a feel for things.

“Generally,” Judith explained when Khalid questioned the logic in the old man’s thinking as they made their way into Derdriu, “the heir in line for their parent’s title will sit in during the Conference’s a few times when they’re around your age. They sit and listen, and that’s it. Once they’ve had some experience, occasionally their parent will ask their opinion at the table. It doesn’t mean anything, because they’re obviously just going to agree with what their parent said, but it’s good practice speaking clearly and concisely at the table. When they’re older, sometimes they’ll let the kid take their place for a less important Conference and only step in when necessary. Before he died, your uncle took His Grace’s place at the table when he was ill.”

“Now, you do.”

“As a favor, more than anything,” she admitted. Her lips curled up. “Thankfully, once we get you caught up to speed, it’ll be your problem, not mine.”

It was a slow, tedious day. Khalid would have even taken a moment of seeing Lorenz as a reprieve from a bunch of stuffy old men who sneered at him when they thought he wasn’t looking – and Holst who, as Hilda had promised, seemed to hold no ill-will toward Khalid – but Lorenz was away helping his father’s soldiers deal with some bandits making trouble in Gloucester.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and Judith made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that all conversation during the meeting was to be addressed to _her_ , not him. If Khalid didn’t know any better, he would have thought that most of the other lords were rather intimidated by the woman, which wouldn’t have surprised him in the least.

Khalid did as he was told and listened intently. Many of the issues they discussed were things that he and his grandfather had talked about during their daily lessons, and Khalid could have easily provided his grandfather’s stance on any of it just as well as Judith did.

Count Gloucester did, a few times, try to temp Khalid into speaking, into slipping up, but Judith was having none of it, even going as far as threatening to adjourn the session if ‘certain individuals’ couldn’t follow the simple rules and traditions of the Round Table. This comment made the man make the puckered, sour expression he was so good at, and he was no further trouble.

When the meeting was adjourned, the lords insisted in chatting some more, much to the annoyance of both Judith and Khalid. Inevitably, the topic of the Officers Academy came up, when Count Gloucester started bragging about Lorenz’s acceptance thanks to his recommendation from the School in Sorcery in Fhirdiad.

“Yeah,” Holst pitched in, drawing himself up like the proud big brother he was, “Hilda was accepted too.” He turned to Khalid before Count Gloucester was able to say anything else. “She also mentioned you were, Claude.” The boy nodded. “House leader, right?” Khalid didn’t miss the side-eye Holst shot Count Gloucester’s way, as if he was rubbing it in that Lorenz had the spot pulled right out from under him.

“That’s right.”

“My daughter, Lysithea will be attending this year, as well,” Count Ordelia noted. “She’s very excited, though I do worry about her...” The man's expression was rather grim, thought Khalid couldn't quite put his finger on why that would be.

“Marianne will be attending, too,” Margrave Edmund added. Marianne, Khalid remembered vaguely, was his adopted daughter. “Lord von Riegan, would you be so kind as to keep an eye on her? She’s a very quiet girl, and she’s never done well in large groups.”

Khalid smiled politely, offering both the Margrave and the Count a light bow. “What kind of house leader would I be if I didn’t look out for my classmates?”


	13. Garreg Mach Monastery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid finally makes it to Garreg Mach

The new year rolled around, and the upcoming term at the Officer’s Academy drew nearer. The old man sent for the tailor once more, and Khalid was fitted with a set of spiffy new uniforms, all black with gold trim – and a summer uniform in cream and white for the ‘warmer’ months that Khalid doubted he’d ever need because even Fódlan’s warmest days tended to be comfortable at best – and a little cape thing that was supposed to signify his status as house leader, yellow for the Golden Deer that he would be leading.

Despite her reluctance at the thought of how much work she would have to do, and her thinly veiled pleas for Khalid to maybe do it for her, even Hilda seemed excited at the prospect of life at Garreg Mach, away from the Alliance. Khalid was pretty excited to, if he was being honest, though it was mostly born of his nosy curiosity. He’d read a lot over the past couple of moons about the famous monastery, and a place so massive and ancient was bound to have some juicy secrets hidden somewhere.

As the day of departure came upon him, Khalid made sure he had his belongings in order. The knife Hilda had made fun of him hiding under his pillow, his worn and well-tended bow and a few pot of his preferred bowstring wax, a smattering of his favorite books, the quiver his father had sent with him, and even the pendant his grandfather had gifted him with on his sixteenth birthday a year and a half before.

Derdriu was just a couple days’ travel by carriage from Garreg Mach. The term began at the start of the Great Tree Moon, and was kicked off by a small gala held for the students to welcome them to the Monastery. Hilda and Lorenz were practically over the moon at the prospect, and Khalid did his best to seem like he matched their enthusiasm.

The day of departure came, and Khalid’s belongings were loaded into a carriage after breakfast. Addie seemed sad to see him go, though Khalid wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t just wistful thinking on his part. They’d become quite close over the past almost two years, and she’d definitely opened up a lot more around him, no longer concerned with being proper and polite when they were alone. She gave him a hug before the left the dining room, quick and sisterly, wishing him a good year. It was moments like that that Khalid was reminded of Salma, and he tugged at his braid thoughtfully as they walked to the foyer.

Shockingly, the old man was waiting to see him off. Addie said a final, polite goodbye and left him with a curtsy under the scrutinizing gaze of the old man that they both knew was sarcastic. The old man fixed him with a hard look when he came to a stop next to him by the door.

“Claude,” he said evenly.

“Grandfather.”

“I don’t think I need to remind of the importance of your discretion.”

Khalid stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I know.”

“While you are at the Officer’s Academy, you represent House Riegan,” he continued, going over a variation of the same speech Khalid had been hearing on loop for the past month. “Everything you do reflects on me, and the Alliance as a whole. That is not even to mention the fact that the Gloucester boy will be there, likely scrutinizing your every move.”

“I get it.” The boy put his hands behind his head, stretching casually as he tried for a confidant smirk. “You worry too much.”

The old man didn’t look very impressed. “I think I worry an appropriate amount.” He sighed, looking tired and frail. Khalid recognized the look, and he suspected the man would likely take ill again at some point in the coming month. “I only ask you use caution and dedicate yourself to your studies.”

“Yes, sir,” Khalid relented.

Duke Riegan extended his hand, and Khalid shook it firmly, sending the old man tottering a little. “Have a good term.” With that, he hobbled away, nothing further to say.

The carriage was ready and loaded, and Khalid clambered in. The driver urged the horses forward and they started down the path through Derdriu and beyond. Since arriving from Fódlan’s Throat Khalid hadn’t gone beyond Derdriu, and it was nice getting to see more of the countryside. By nightfall, they came to a small town on the edge of Riegan and stayed the night in a small inn there before starting into Gloucester bright and early the next morning. Khalid stayed in a total of four inns before coming to the town at the base of Garreg Mach two days before the welcoming ceremony.

Coming up the road that led to the historic monastery, Khalid was enraptured by the sight of it rising, nestled into the mountain range. It looked more like a fortress, belaying its pre-Kingdom architecture with its high battlements and blue/green-tipped spires. A procession of other carriages wound their way up the road.

They rattled to a stop in line outside the gates of the monastery, and Khalid watched through the window as people clambered out of the carriages at the front, luggage being taken by servants as the students were led away.

When it was Khalid’s turn, a young man greeted him as he hopped down. “Welcome to Garreg Mach Monastery,” the man said. “Your name, please?”

“Claude von Riegan.” He checked a list written on a piece of parchment.

“Excellent. If you’ll follow me.” Laden with Khalid’s luggage, the two of them started walking.

Through the gate, there was a marketplace bustling with people. The young man led him up a set of stairs and left past a grand entrance hall that Khalid only managed to get a peak of through the massive double doors as they passed. From there, they passed a quaint little pond and a greenhouse.

“These are the dorms for the students,” the man explained as they climbed a set of stairs into a long, two-story building. Students already in their uniforms bustled in and out of dorm rooms, talking excitedly in the halls. Khalid’s room, it turned out, was right near the end of the long hallway. “And here is your room key.”

The room was small, cozy. A yellow rug was spread over the wooden floor. The wall was lined with shelves, and a worn wooden desk was set on the right-hand wall, across from the bed. The man sat down Khalid’s luggage and took his leave.

Khalid got to work unpacking before changing into his uniform. He’s barely clipped the cape on when there came a knock on his door. He wasn’t very surprised to find Hilda waiting on the other side, pink hair pulled into sleek twin tails. Her uniform – a white blouse with gold accents and a cravat, a black dress over top with gold buttons, and blue stockings under knee-high black boots – highlighted her curves in the way Hilda liked, giving off the air of delicacy, despite the swell of muscle in her toned arms and thighs.

“Claude!” she squealed, grabbing his hand and stepping back to give him an appraising look. “What do you say we go get lunch? I’ve heard wonderful things about the dining hall.”

“Sounds good.” Khalid locked the door behind them and Hilda led the way to the dining hall. The smells coming from the kitchen were heavenly, and the options were quite expansive. With plates of steaming food in hand, they found seats at one of the tables. Students and staff alike gathered and ate, and the room was filled with pleasant chatter.

Hilda was staring at the people they would be spending the year with, not-so-subtly checking out the guys that sat a few seats over. A guy with fiery red hair sat cheerfully flirting with a gaggle of giggling girls while an angry dark-haired boy rolled his eyes and glared. The red-head glanced over, rubbing the back of his neck as one of the girls fawned over him, and seemed to catch Hilda staring, flashing a wink her way. Hilda didn’t seem to mind too much.

After lunch, Khalid managed to talk Hilda into doing some exploration. They meandered their way through the entrance hall, a series of well-manicured gardens, and the reception hall that was being decorated for the coming gala. From there, they made their way to the second floor, where Khalid was pleased to learn the library was housed. The library was said to hold one of the best collections of books in Fódlan, though whether that was truth or hype, Khalid couldn’t be sure.

Hilda was bored as Khalid took his time examining the books, following him with only the occasional huff or flip of her hair. Her interest was piqued, however, when they came across a series of portraits that were hung over bookshelves on the second floor. “Ooh, Claude, look! Class portraits! Holst said they paint one of the graduating class every year.” Each one showed a group of twenty four young men and woman in three rows of eight, names written in elegant script under each one. She started studying them. “Here’s the one from the year Holst was here! Oh, and Baltie~”

Sure enough, the bottom row was headed by a mop of fluffy pink hair, the name Holst Goneril written underneath. To his left was a large, black-haired boy with the unfamiliar name Balthus von Albrecht. Next to him was the familiar purple bob of Aliza Maybelle Gloucester. There was also a Daphnel, and an Acheron, as well as three people Khalid assumed to be commoners as he didn’t recognize the family name.

In the top row, the house leader bore the red cape of the Black Eagles. Khalid’s brow furrowed as he took a closer look. Johan von Hresvelg was the house leader, a young man looking about the same age as Holst, with copper colored hair and eyes. Next to him was an eerily similar young woman, Johanna von Hresvelg. Beyond her was a slightly younger boy with slate colored hair and dark eyes named Frederick von Hresvelg. Khalid had heard that House Hresvelg, the ruling family of the Empire, had a lot of heirs, but to have three attending the academy at the same time? The only other family name Khalid recognized down the line was that of a blue-haired Noah von Bergliez, as House Bergliez’s territory bordered the Alliance across the Airmid River, and maintained the Empire’s Ministry of Military Affairs.

The middle line, by process of elimination, was comprised of the Blue Lions. And, much to Khalid’s surprise, the house leader seemed to be the youngest student among all the classes, maybe around thirteen or fourteen, with long inky hair braided over his shoulder and icy blue eyes. Next to him was a large red-headed boy much like the one in the dining hall, only a lot bigger and angrier looking. Next were a blonde woman named Cassandra Rubens Charon and a brown-haired young man named Christophe Gaspard.

“Whoa,” Hilda mused, studying the others in the picture, “the red-haired guy is super scary. Doesn’t he look like the guy we saw in the dining hall?”

“Miklan Gautier,” Khalid read. The Gautier family, if he remembered correctly, guarded the Kingdom against Sreng. “They certainly look related.”

“The boy we saw didn’t look that scary…” She cocked her head to the side. “And look at the house leader. He looks an awful lot like that grumpy guy. Hmm... Glenn Fraldarius.” That name, too, stuck out to Khalid; House Fraldarius was known as the Shield of Faerghus. “They really let a little kid be house leader?”

“Glenn was a prodigy with a sword,” a smooth voice cut in from behind them. Hilda nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around and pulling Khalid in front of her as a human shield as if they were being attacked. The aforementioned redhead was leaning casually against the railing, hands in his pockets, looking rather amused.

“Oh, don’t _do_ that,” Hilda scolded.

“Heh, sorry,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and generally not looking sorry in the least. “How rude of me, scaring such a lovely lady. You'll have to let me make it up to you some time.” This was accompanied by a wink. Looking satisfied, Hilda removed her death grip on Khalid’s arm and stepped away, smoothing out the skirt of her dress.

“How long have you been standing there?” Khalid wondered.

The guy shrugged. “A while.” He extended his hand to Khalid. “Sylvain Gautier.”

“Claude von Riegan,” Khalid said, shaking it.

“Hilda Goneril,” Hilda added, dipping into a cute curtsy. “So, you _are_ related to the scary guy…” Sylvain arched an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, sorry. That was rude.”

“Nah, you’re fine.” Sylvain dismissed, laughing. “My brother’s an asshole.”

Khalid glanced back at the picture. “This Glenn guy,” he mused, “you said he’s a prodigy?”

Sylvain nodded, the small smirk on his lips turning down slightly. “Yeah. He was knighted the year after he graduated. Fifteen. He was the youngest person ever to join the Royal Guard. His brother Felix – you know, the grumpy guy,” he said, the smile returning ever so slightly, “is no slouch either.”

“You keep saying ‘was,’” Khalid noted.

Sylvain sighed. “Yeah. Was. He, uh. He died in the line of duty a few years ago.”

Hilda’s hand went over her heart. “That’s so sad.”

“Yeah.” A heavy silence fell over them. “So, have you seen the cathedral yet?” he wondered, changing the subject.

“Not yet,” Hilda said, batting her eyelashes. “Maybe you could show me?”

Sylvain’s eyes practically glittered in the low candlelight. “It would be my honor, Miss Goneril.” He pulled himself away from the railing and offered out a gentleman-y hand. Hilda took it graciously, winding her arm through his like she had done to Khalid so many times.

She barely spared Khalid a glance over her shoulder as they started for the stairs. “I’ll see you at dinner, ‘kay?”

“Whatever you say, Hilda.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I should work on Winds of Change.
> 
> Also Me: Animal Crossing :)
> 
> Me: Okay, seriously, write.
> 
> Also Me: *works on one of the four other stories I'm writing instead*
> 
> Me: Winds of Change. Focus. It's been two weeks.
> 
> Storm: *knocks out the power*


	14. Welcome to the Officers Academy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid meets Their Hignesses.

Chapter Fourteen

Welcome to the Officers Academy

Khalid hung around a while longer, studying more of the portraits after Hilda left with Sylvain. Going back a few years, he noted a few more von Hresvelgs: a mousy brown-haired girl named Greta who attended a few years before Holst’s class; and, two years before her, a black-haired Albrecht and a golden-haired Harlan. After Holst’s class, the class of 1173, there was a surprising absence of von Hresvelgs.

As Khalid studied the six he’d found, he couldn’t help but notice how dissimilar they were from each other. Aside from the copper-haired Johan and Johanna, who Khalid guessed were likely twins, they shared very few similarities. The range of hair and eye colors was baffling, and the most notable features they shared were a sharp jaw-line and slender build. Add to that the fact that these von Hresvelgs were all _older_ than Princess Edelgard, and yet she was somehow next in line for the throne.

Tucking all that away as a mystery to think about later, Khalid went even further down the line, looking for one particular name and finding it in the class twenty-two years before. Tiana von Riegan at, if Khalid’s math was correct, seventeen years old. She looked largely the same, just without the creases that gathered around her eyes and the threads of silver that were starting to streak though her chestnut hair. Moving down the line, five years before her, Khalid found his late uncle Godfrey. He had hair just a few shades darker than his sister’s, with the same green von Riegan eyes, and a strong jaw and broad shoulders. Khalid couldn’t help but wonder if he looked like the old man had in his youth. Unfortunately, the library’s portraits didn’t seem to go back that far.

Khalid sighed, looking over the balcony railing at the library below. There was still a whole lot of monastery left to explore, but he couldn’t help but miss Hilda’s familiar company now that she was gone. How like her to ditch him for a new, pretty face five seconds after they got there.

He started wandering aimlessly, committing the layout to memory against the maps he’d studied – and memorized – from books in his grandfather’s library. He caught sight of the occasional other Officers Academy uniform, though found he couldn’t be bothered to go meet his soon-to-be classmates just yet.

As he wandered, he found his way to the Officers Academy, a large building that stood between the students dorms and the reception hall. Student milled around the well-tended courtyard, an excited chattered filling the air.

Three large doors were set into the Officer’s Academy, one for each of Fódlan’s nations, signifying that it was the classroom of that nation’s students. The yellow banner of the Alliance marked the south-most door, followed by that of the Kingdom, then the Empire. Curious, Khalid poked his head into the Golden Deer classroom. It was your standard classroom fare, unsurprisingly. A large wooden desk and a chalkboard sat opposite of the door in front of an elegant stained glass window, with rows of tables and benches for the students taking up most of the floor space, and book cases lining the walls. Large fireplaces were set into the each wall, filling the room with warmth and a cozy orange glow. In the center of the ceiling, a modest chandelier was hung, the candlelight sending flickering shadows over the vaulted stone above.

The room, at the moment, was empty, and Khalid took the opportunity to snoop around a little. The books on the bookcase ranged from worn strategy guides to complicated magic tomes to handwritten accounts of historic battles, some of which Khalid made a mental note to make sure he read later. Unable to help himself, Khalid stepped behind the teacher’s desk and studied the contents that littered the top. It was cluttered with scraps of notes written on parchment and dogeared textbooks.

Before Khalid could be even nosier and actually read anything, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway. Khalid glanced up, silently cursing himself for not being more cautious. A stern, green-haired man glared at him, a girl in an Officers Academy uniform with a thick braid of magenta hair watching curiously from just outside the door.

“Based on your uniform,” the man said, voice dripping with authority, “am I to assume you are Claude von Riegan?”

“Guilty,” Khalid joked with a small smirk, stretching his hands behind his head. “And you are?”

“My name is Seteth. I work alongside Lady Rhea here at the monastery. You would do well to refrain from snooping through others’ belongings,” the man chided.

“Right,” Khalid dismissed lightly, coming out from around the desk. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, just having a look around.”

Seteth didn’t look too convinced. “Just keep in mind that you are the house leader of the Golden Deer, and as such, it is your responsibility to lead your house by example.”

“Lead by example. Got it.”

Seteth stared at him for a moment longer, scrutinizing, before he turned to the magenta-haired girl. “As I was saying before, have I answered your questions?”

“Oh, yes, I am understanding greatly now,” she assured him. Khalid couldn’t help listen. The girl clearly wasn’t from Fódlan. She had a light, lilting accent, and her grammar was _just_ off enough to be noticeable. Khalid could sympathize; learning Fodlan hand't come super easy to him, though he had the advantage of learning when he was very young. “I have much gratitude for your helping… er, for your help.”

“It is my pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He cast a last sharp look over his shoulder at Khalid before turning away and heading toward the reception hall.

The girl turned away, too, but Khalid followed after her. “Hey,” he called, “you’re a student too, aren’t you?”

She stopped, spinning around and smiling politely. Khalid noted a magenta triangle painted under her right eye and wondered what that was about. “Oh, yes,” she confirmed. “I am called Petra. It is nice to be meeting you… uh, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Claude,” he told her, though she’d already heard that from Seteth. “Nice to meet you. What class are you in?”

“The Black Eagles. You are of the Golden Deer, yes?”

“Yup. If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”

“I am of Brigid.” Khalid didn’t know much about Brigid, aside from the fact it was a small archipelago off the southwestern coast of Adrestia, a vassal state of the Empire after a failed invasion in cooperation with Dagda.

“Wow, you’re a long way from home,” he mused, as if he wasn’t just as far away from his home. “You’ll have to tell me about Brigid some time.”

She smiled again, her eyes lighting up just a little. “I will,” she promised. “If you will be excusing me, I am having… I have to be going.” She tipped her head politely and turned away, and he watched until she disappeared into the Black Eagles classroom.

Khalid wandered until the sun started sinking toward the horizon. A bell chimed from the cathedral, six tolls for six o’clock. He made his way back to the dining hall. He’d just settled at a table by himself and contented himself to studying the students around him – he noted a slight boy with silver hair and a kind smile sitting with Petra, a blue-haired boy talking boisterously to a timid boy with lime-colored hair and wire-frame glasses, and a blue-haired girl who sat alone with her head down – Hilda sank into the seat next to him.

“Where’s your new boyfriend?” he teased before filling his mouth with a bite of perfectly steamed and seasoned vegetables.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, slight smiling playing on her pink lips. “Oh, don’t be jealous,” she shot back. He wasn’t particularly. “He was just being a gentleman.” He wondered how she managed to say it with a straight face.

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s one word for it,” he allowed. “Horny is another.”

She laughed. “Oh, absolutely. He’s a complete dog.” She chewed over a dainty bite of roast beef thoughtfully. “He’s hot, though. Tries a bit too hard to come off as an airhead, I think. _Really_ well connected, though.” He hummed, mouth full. “I guess he and the grumpy guy are childhood friends of the crown prince.”

“Is that so?”

“So he says, anyway.” Hilda tended to be pretty good at reading people, and if she thought he was lying, she didn’t voice it.

“Is _His Royal Highness_ here yet?”

“Uh-uh. Sylvain said he won’t be here until the opening ceremony. Which reminds me...” Khalid groaned. “You have to introduce me.”

“I don’t know him,” he huffed.

She rolled her eyes. “Duh. But you’re the next sovereign duke, so you’ll have to meet him anyway. You know, for politics.”

He gave her a withering stare. “For politics.” She smiled sweetly. “Hilda, he’s here to be a student like everyone else. Go introduce _yourself_ to him.”

She didn’t look very impressed. “He’s the future ruler of Faerghus,” she reminded him dryly. “And you want me to just go up to him and say hi?”

“I mean, you basically glued yourself to me when _we_ met.”

“That’s different,” she dismissed, though Khalid had no idea _how_ it was different. “Besides, you owe me.”

He sighed. “Really? Gonna pull the favor card?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So, do you just plan to hold that over my head until one of us dies?”

She considered it for a moment. “Sounds good to me.”

“Fantastic.”

~OoO~

The next day passed mostly uneventfully, and Hilda decided not to ditch him for a pretty face, so that was nice. Lorenz arrived after lunch, seemingly sniffing them out immediately while they were walking past the stables and forcing his company on them.

A few of the Golden Deer students, noticing Khalid’s shining beacon of a cape, came up to introduce themselves. The lime-haired boy with glasses introduced himself as Ignatz Victor, the second son of a merchant family. He was soft-spoken and overly formal when he addressed Khalid, a habit Khalid was resolved to break him of by the moon’s end. The blue-haired girl who had been sitting alone at dinner stammered her way through a barely audible introduction. Marianne von Edmund. He remembered Margrave Edmund explaining that she didn’t do well around people, and asking Khalid to keep an eye on her. He could suddenly understand why. Late in the evening, at dinner, a girl with short, vibrant orange hair sat with Khalid, Hilda, and Lorenz, introducing herself as Leonie Pinelli. She was upbeat, energetic, and seemed to be eager to study at the Academy.

The following day, the last day of the Lone Moon, a hum was in the air, everyone excited about the opening ceremony. More students arrived in droves, among them, one of the largest guys Khalid had seen in Fódlan, a big blond guy named Raphael Kirsten who seemed to have not a formal bone in his body. He clapped people hard on the shoulder as he laughed, each pulse of his broad chest threatening to send the strained buttons of his shirt shooting off with deadly force. The sour lemon face Lorenz made when Raphael did it to him was enough to make Khalid decide he liked the big guy.

They ate a light snack in the evening, as dinner would be provided at the opening ceremony, before heading off to their rooms to change into their formal uniforms. Khalid didn’t like the thing. He’d had a bit more freedom in the design of his standard uniform, and had gone for comfort and mobility. The formal uniform was more fashion than function, pomp over comfort in the typical style of Fódlan finery. Hilda was waiting outside his door when he stepped out. In the women's formal uniform, Khalid was pretty sure it was the least of Hilda’s skin he’d ever seen, her arms and legs entirely covered. She didn’t look too pleased about it, either. Her hair was elegantly twisted and her face was fully made up, complete with bright pink lipstick and shimmery eye shadow.

She tucked herself into his side, arm winding through his the second he locked the door behind him. “Ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he decided. Students in identical uniforms filtered away from the dorms, toward the reception hall. The air was alive with chatter. Sylvain, he saw, had his arm draped over the shoulder of a blonde girl who was having _none_ of his shit, while the grumpy guy – Felix, he remembered – watched, vaguely amused. A pretty brunette was gently coaxing a plum-haired girl from her room while she wailed and begged to be left alone. Raphael walked with Ignatz, his booming laugh ringing clearly over the lively babble.

The reception hall was set up with four tables. Three occupied the middle of floor, each set with a thick, fine tablecloth with their colors corresponding to the class intended to sit there – Red in the front, yellow in the middle, blue in the back. The fourth, which was much longer and curved in an arch with the chairs on the outside, facing toward the other three tables, was draped in a white cloth. In the center-most seat sat probably the most regal-looking woman Khalid had ever seen. Hair the color of fresh spring leaves cascaded over her shoulders as she smiled serenely at the crowd that filtered in. Seteth sat next to her, and next to him was a young girl with springy green curls. _What’s with all the green hair?_

At the tables, Khalid noted that their names were set with small place cards, dictating where everyone was to sit. Khalid’s seat was in the center of the table, facing the church table, with Hilda directly across from him, and Lorenz to his left. To his right, the name Lysithea von Ordelia, Count Ordelia’s daughter he presumed. Hilda was sandwiched between Raphael and Marianne, who looked like she would rather be just about anywhere else. More students filtered in around them, filling the seats along each of the tables.

At the Black Eagle table in front of them, a slight girl sat in the center seat, her back to him. Based on the medium-length red cape clipped to her left shoulder, he guessed she was Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir apparent of the Empire and house leader of the Black Eagles. She had long off-white hair, different still than any of the siblings he’d seen in the library’s portraits. To her right was a tall, lanky guy with dark hair, and to her left, Petra. Khalid also noticed the brunette had managed to get the plum-haired girl out of her room, and said was slouched low in her chair, looking about three seconds from darting under the table to hide.

Khalid spared a glance over his shoulder at the Blue Lions table. Directly behind him, with a blue cape draped over his left shoulder was a tall boy with golden blond hair and bright blue eyes. Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. He sat with perfect posture, smiling politely. The grumpy guy, Felix, sat to his right and didn’t seem very happy about it if his disdainful glares were anything to go by. Some childhood friend. A hulking dark-skinned guy with pure-white hair was to the prince’s left, stern-looking and silent. He couldn’t be sure – he would have to get them to stand next to each other some time to be certain – but Khalid would almost bet the guy was bigger than Raphael, an impressive feat if true.

Khalid turned back, and noticed Hilda staring at the prince over his shoulder, biting her lip as she appraised him. She caught him staring, and her eyes sparkled as mouthed, ‘he’s _hot_ ’ while dramatically fanning herself. He stared at her, exasperated at her one-track mind.

“You must be Claude von Riegan,” a shrill voice said next to Khalid, drawing his attention away from Hilda and her obsession with attractive men. The voice belonged to a teeny-tiny girl, easily less than five feet tall, and somewhere in the general vicinity of twelve and fourteen years old, with stark white hair and bright purple eyes.

“I am,” he agreed, amused by the way she stared him down – up? – haughty and very serious. “You must be Lysithea von Ordelia.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?” He laughed, just tapping her name card on the table in front of her as an answer. Her face flushed pink, and he guess it was more out of the anger and indignation of it than anything.

She hadn’t managed to come up with a comeback when a soft _tink_ ing sound filled the hall. All the talking and laughing cut off, the music faded to silence, and all eyes turning toward the curved table full of church members who sat gently tapping their glasses. The sound cut off a moment later, and the regal woman stood, smiling warmly at them.

“Welcome to Garreg Mach Monastery, students of the Officers Academy,” she greeted warmly. “It is so lovely to this hall full of fresh, eager faces for yet another year. My name is Rhea.” She needed no more introduction than that; Lady Rhea, archbishop of the Church of Seiros. "This class marks the two-hundredth year of the Officers Academy, two hundred years of guiding a generation of leaders and inspiring camaraderie and friendship between the three nations of Fódlan. Isn’t that lovely?

“You will spend the next year learning about military strategy and honing your diverse, individual skills under some of the most knowledgeable teachers in Fódlan. Work hard and I’m sure you will all go on to do wonderful things.”

Her kind – almost unsettlingly so – smile faded just a hair. “Unfortunately, one of our professors has not yet been able to make it to the monastery. Until they are able to join us, Professor Hanneman-” she gestured to a man with gray hair, a bushy mustache, and a monocle, “and Professor Manuela-” a surprisingly young woman, for a professor, with brown hair and curves for days, “will do their best to compensate for the absence.” She clasped her hands together in front of her and bowed her head. “Goddess willing, the delay will not be a long one.

“With that said, let us eat. May the goddess bless this meal, and each of us as we enjoy her bounty.” Khalid resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Servants bustled out with trays laden with plates of food, laying them out swiftly in front of the students and church staff. It was a delicious roast pheasant; the monastery cooks didn’t mess around, it seemed. Light banter resumed as everyone ate their fill.

Once plates were clean and stomachs were full, servants came and cleared the plates. The tables were moved to the side of the hall, out of the way so the students could mingle. The music picked up, a bit more lively and upbeat. Hilda attached herself to him at the earliest opportunity. “Are you ready?” she asked innocently.

“You might wanna wipe the drool off your chin,” he told her dryly, already seeking the prince through the crowd of identical uniforms; it wasn’t hard, he was the only one with a splash of blue. “I hear hot princes don’t like rabid girls who drool on their shoes.”

She swatted his arm. “Oh, hush you. Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Ruin what?”

“I’ve always wanted to fuck a prince.” He stared at her dryly, wondering if she _actually_ being serious, to which she just shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a simple girl with simple dreams.”

“I can just imagine Holst’s face if he heard you say that.”

She giggled, flipping her hair. “We don’t have all night, Claude. Chop, chop.”

Seeing as there was no arguing with a particularly determined Hilda, they started picking their way toward His Highness. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with this idea, as when they drew nearer, Khalid could make out the crimson cape of the imperial princess standing along side the blue of the prince. The tall, lanky guy Khalid had noted earlier loomed behind her like a shadow, yellow eyes narrowed as he scrutinized anyone who passed by Her Highness. Similarly, the massive guy who’s been next to Dimitri at the table remained at his side, still just as silent as Khalid had seen him all through dinner.

The lanky guy noticed Khalid and Hilda approach before the rest of them did, lightly tapping Princess Edelgard on the shoulder and nodding their direction. She cut off whatever she’d been saying to Prince Dimitri, turning to scrutinize Khalid. He grinned broadly.

It was Prince Dimitri who spoke first, once he picked up on their arrival. “Ah, you must be Claude,” he greeted with a carefully-measured smile. He placed a hand over his heart and dipped into a small, proper bow. “I was hoping we would get the chance to meet tonight. I am Dimitri.”

“Edelgard,” the princess added, not bothering with such formalities. Behind her, the lanky guy looked like he was ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Khalid tipped his head politely to each of them, and beside him, Hilda dropped into an over-exaggerated curtsy, flashing her sweetest smile. “Yeah, nice to meet you.” He gestured to Hilda, who was subtly digging her elbow into his ribs. “Oh, and this is my friend Hilda Goneril.” Though her sugary smile didn't falter, he could just see the glint in her eyes that told him she didn't think that was a very flattering introduction.

“It is an honor to meet you, Lady Goneril,” Dimitri said, extending his hand for hers, and brushing his lips lightly over her knuckles when she took it.

“Oh, no, Your Highness, the honor is all mine.”

“Please,” he dismissed, cheeks flushing a light pink, Khalid noted with some amusement, “while we are at the Academy, I ask to be treated just as any other student. Call me Dimitri, I insist.”

“If you’re sure,” she agreed easily. “Dimitri.”

“Since we’re doing introductions,” Edelgard cut in, “may I introduce Hubert von Vestra?” He inclined his head just the slightest bit, but didn’t seem particularly inclined to join the conversation.

“Ah,” Dimitri sighed, looking rather sheepish. “How rude of me." He gestured to the big guy behind him. "This is Dedue, my loyal and trusted friend and vassal.”

Dedue bowed, overly formal, looking like he _did_ want to say something, to Dimitri moreso than the rest of them, but he held his tongue.

“So,” Hilda said brightly when silence fell over them, “how neat is it that you’re _all three_ at the Academy at the same time? That’s never happened before, you know.”

“It’s quite unexpected,” Edelgard mused, putting a hand on her hip as she studied Khalid and Dimitri. “The whims of fate, I suppose.”

Dimitri chuckled low in his throat. “I hope we are able to come to know one another in the coming year. If we are to rule alongside each other some day-” whatever he was about to say was cut off by a loud ‘hey, Your Highness!’ cutting across the crowd courtesy of Sylvain, much to the apparent annoyance of Felix and the blonde girl. “Oh, I apologize. If you will all excuse me.” He offered another practiced bow and turned to join them, Dedue on his heels.

Edelgard was still appraising Khalid with her pale periwinkle eyes. Khalid grinned at her, propping his free hand on his hip. “Something wrong, Your Highness?”

“No,” she dismissed. “I suppose I’m just trying to decide what kind of person you are.” It was surprisingly honest, and not the answer he would expect her – or anyone, really – to give openly. “To figure out what kind of leader you will be.”

He flashed her a quick wink. “I wish you the best of luck, then,” he joked. “And I hope you let me know when you figure it out.”

“Hmm.” She stared for another moment before flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Good evening, Claude. Hilda.”

“Your Highness.” She turned on her heel and walked off with Hubert stalking after like a possessed shadow.

Hilda was silent for a second. “That was weird, right?”

“Super weird,” he agreed, once again wondering what secrets Princes Edelgard was hiding. Though, of course, such answers were not going to come easily. Instead, he towed Hilda through the crowd and tried to focus on the upbeat atmosphere around them until they were sent off to bed when the church bell chimed ten o’clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Ugh, I can't write... What are words? Paragraphs? Never met her.
> 
> Also me: Somehow writes 4000 word chapter. Dialogue got a little eh in places, but whatever. 
> 
> And do I have a full roster of students from the class of 1173? You bet I do. Names, ages, classes, and descriptions. Is all of it going to come up in this story? Nope. Will it come up in another story in the future? Maybe.


	15. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Khalid gets used to his new surroundings.

**Five Years Earlier**

In Almyra, the Great Tree Moon brings with it the promise of the heat of summer. With summer on the horizon, there come the festivals. If there’s any excuse to celebrate and party, Almyrans will pounce on it. The summer months on the calendars are crammed full of holidays (religious or otherwise), festivals, combat tournaments, and weddings.

As a kid, there was something magical about it all to Khalid. Seeing the streets of Azraq packed full of people in vibrant veils and cloaks; vendors selling beautifully crafted wares and street food that filled the air with sharp, spicy aromas; performers drawing crowds with acrobatics, juggling, acting, singing, dancing, fire-eating, and demonstrations of swordplay. At night, storytellers set up around a great fire would regale the masses with histories, fables, and myths that inspired awe no matter how many times they were told.

The royal family didn’t miss out on the fun, either. A pavilion was set up in the center of the city, circled by stern-faced guards, servants bustling around to make sure everyone was drinking plenty of water and offering trays of fruits and nuts. The best of the best street performers, masters of their craft, would give their all if given the chance to perform before the king; the small copper coins citizens tipped them were peanuts next to the potential rewards of impressing the royal family.

As nice as all of that was, the children inevitably grew tired of staying cooped up under the pavilion. Amir and Hassan would wander away first, away from the prying eyes of the guards, and would flaunt their status to the pretty young women who were just trying to enjoy the festival. Salma would grab Khalid’s hand and walk with him to peruse the stalls set up well within earshot of the guards, the overprotective mother hen that she was.

But Khalid was twelve, far too old to be walking around holding his sister’s hand. Khalid wanted to see more the city. “I’m hot,” he whined, calculating his tone to sound just a hair on the bratty side, but not so much that she would think much of it, waiting until she was engrossed in looking at a selection of necklaces offered by a veiled woman. “I want to go back to the pavilion.”

She glanced between him and a lovely pendant necklace that another woman was casually eyeing. “Can you wait a minute longer?”

He sighed over-dramatically. “Can’t I just go back myself?” She bit her lip, torn. “I’m not a little kid, Salma,” he pouted, crossing his arms. “I think I can manage crossing the road without you holding my hand.”

There was hurt in her dark eyes, and Khalid almost regretted his words. Almost. “I know you’re not a little kid, Khalid. It’s just…” The woman edged closer to the necklace on the table, leaning in for a closer look. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, then. Okay?”

He smiled brightly, the smile he knew she could never stay mad at. “Thanks, Sis.” He barely had a chance to see her sad smile before he turned and darted back toward the pavilion. Escaping Salma had been the easy part. He still had to get away from the pavilion without his mother swooping down on him, and he had to be quick about it. He only had a moment, after all.

When he stepped under the shade, he noticed his parents engrossed watching a trio of sword fighters in the midst of a well-choreographed routine, slashing at each other with gleaming scimitars that narrowly missed lopping off bits of their opponents, the ring of metal cutting over the excited cheers from the crowd of wealthy spectators who were graced with the privilege of enjoying the festival with the royal family.

Khalid grabbed a cup of water from a passing servant, downing it in a couple large gulps. Once he was sure his mother’s attention was firmly off of him, Khalid ran out the opposite side from where he’d left Salma. None of the servants or guards payed him any mind, as was typical, and often quite convenient.

He’d barely rounded a corner before a large clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Panic welled in Khalid’s chest for a moment as he was pulled down a narrow alley between two houses, eyes already scanning his surroundings for potential means of escape. “Where do you think you’re going?” Nader’s familiar voice demanded then, amused and accusing in equal measure.

Khalid shrugged off the hand and rounded on the man. “I’m just walking around,” Khalid protested.

Nader arched an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be walking around with Salma.” Khalid scowled at the ground. “I’m going to guess she doesn’t know you’re here by yourself?” He shook his head. “And how do you think she’ll feel when she realizes you’re gone?”

“She’ll worry.” Khalid sighed, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot and kicking up a small puff of dust. “I hate being treated like a baby,” he huffed. “Amir and Hassan were allowed to walk around alone when they were twelve. They didn’t need to hold Salma’s hand all the time.”

“Amir and Hassan hadn’t been targeted by assassins four times by the time they were twelve,” he reminded the pouting boy. “Or at all, for that matter.”

“And you think Salma’s going to fight off assassins all by herself?” Salma could be scary with an axe, but unarmed she was much more of a healer than a fighter.

“No, but someone out to kill you might be waiting to get you alone before they try.”

Khalid rolled his eyes. “Mama and Baba always tell me I need to fight my own battles. I’d rather do that than keep hiding behind Salma like a scared little kid.”

Nader was silent for a moment, scrutinizing the boy. “Fine,” he relented with an unaffected shrug, “suit yourself. If you get murdered, don’t come crying to me.” He turned away, leaving Khalid staring after him. Khalid had stopped falling from the man’s reverse psychology by the time he was six, but that never seemed to stop Nader from trying it. “And, don’t worry, I’ll tell Salma you went off with Amir and Hassan when she asks. If they come back without you, she’ll just assume they’re lying about leaving you somewhere.” If nothing else, Nader was good about covering for Khalid.

And Khalid was left on his own, for the first time in a long time. Khalid enjoyed his newfound freedom, taking in the sights at his own leisure. As he walked, he passed Hassan, who gave him an odd look but said nothing, and he assumed Amir must have been lurking around somewhere.

Sure enough, the older boy, newly seventeen and arrogant as fuck, was backing a pretty girl against a wall. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to Khalid, though usually it was timid maids and serving girls who had to deal with the pompous prince who didn’t like to take no for an answer. Hassan was too busy looking at finely crafted daggers to be paying attention, so Khalid figured he’d help the lady out.

He sneaked up behind his brother, managing to catch the girl’s eye, and held a finger to his lips. She kept quiet as Khalid worked, stealthily untying Amir’s coin purse from his sash and palming it so the gold inside wouldn’t jingle. With a smirk and a wink to the girl, Khalid grabbed the hem of Amir’s cloak and threw it up over his head.

“What the fuck?” he growled, scrambling to pull the cloth away in his surprise. Khalid grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her away. With a quick thank you, she scampered off. Amir recovered, and his eyes fell on Khalid, slitted and full of malice. Khalid held up the coin purse, jingling it triumphantly and flashing him a thumbs-up (the Almyran equivalent of the middle finger that was popular in Fódlan) before running off through the crowd, Amir’s cry of, “You’re dead, you little fucker,” almost swallowed by the sounds of the festival.

He would pay for it later, he was sure, but for the moment, Khalid let himself enjoy the festival. He snacked on lamb kebabs drizzled in a spicy garlic sauce and falafel while he took in the dancing and singing and fire-eating that seemed to be most popular in the poorer parts of the city. It was growing dark by the time he returned to his family. His mother and Salma alternated between fawning over him and scolding him, and Amir eventually managed to give him a fat lip for the trouble of relieving him of his coin, but in the end, Khalid decided, it had been worth it.

~OoO~

Their first official day as students at the Officers Academy began bright and early the next morning, Khalid discovered. The first bell tolled out at the crack of dawn, signaling the start of the day. Thankfully, Khalid was used to getting up early thanks to his grandfather’s insistence on maintaining a rigid training schedule, and he dressed quickly before heading for the dining hall.

Hilda was less enthused by the prospect, yawning over-dramatically when she caught up with Khalid on his way out of the dorms, grumbling and bemoaning how cruel it was it make them get up before it was even properly light out.

Their classmates’ sentiments were split on the matter. The crabby, midnight haired Kingdom boy, Felix, as well as Lorenz – Claude’s room was sandwiched between the two of them – were apparently both morning people, unperturbed by the early start. Sylvain took a similar stance as Hilda, theatrically draping his arm over Felix’s shoulder as they walked and complaining that it was far too early until Felix brushed his arm off with a huff and a glare.

Prince Dimitri and Princess Edelgard, Khalid noticed, seemed mostly unbothered on the walk to the dining hall, taking the time to check in with their classmates along the way. The princess seemed to have her hands full, between the girl who’d been terrified to leave her room the day before and a green-haired boy (seriously, why _green_ hair? What did it mean?) who looked like he was sleepwalking more than anything. His Highness, on the other hand, was surrounded by his entourage of childhood friends, Sylvain, Felix, and the blonde girl whose name Khalid still had yet to learn.

In the dining hall, a hearty breakfast was served; eggs, fresh fruit, porridge, and fried meats melded together to produce a heavenly aroma. Despite the sleepiness that clung to some of the students, vibrant chatter bubbled around them as everyone prepared for the first day of their studies. It hit Khalid that this would be what his days looked like for the next year. The faces around him, the almost overwhelmingly grandeur of the monastery, all of it would be the backdrop of his life for the foreseeable future. And he already had so many questions he itched to uncover the answers to.

After breakfast, Seteth asked the students to follow him to the Officers Academy. They grouped up in the courtyard across from the classrooms by class, an array of Church staff waiting for them. There were the two professors they had been introduced to the night before, Hanneman and Manuela.

Aside from them, there was a tall, lithe man with pale hair who wore a white mask; a woman with short, blonde hair who seemed to radiate confidence; and a glowering dark-haired woman who stood by the other woman’s side, occasionally rolling her eyes at whatever her companion was saying.

Seteth stood before the assembled students, hands clasped behind his back, and the chatter around them died. “Good morning,” he greeted, stern and no-nonsense. “I hope you all had a good night. For those who I have not yet been introduced to, I am Seteth. As Lady Rhea explained last night, one of our professors has yet to join us, though we expect he should arrive at any time. Normally, the three professors would each take charge of a class at this point. However, given the unforeseen circumstances, we must improvise.

“For the time being, Professors Manuela and Hanneman will do their best to rotate between the three classes. Whichever class is left without a professor at any time will train with these three instructors.” He gestured first to the tall man in the mask. “Professor Jeritza is the Officers Academy’s combat instructor. He will be aided by Catherine and Shamir-” The blonde and dark-haired women, respectively, “who are both highly regarded members of the Knights of Seiros.

“Once we are finally joined by our missing professor, classes will return to their typical format, and the three professors will decide at that point which class they will take charge of. Are there any questions?” No one asked any, whether that was out of apathy, nerves, or simply because the explanation was perfectly clear, Khalid didn’t know. “Very well. If a question should occur to you, please, do not hesitate to ask myself or any of your instructors. With that said, I will take my leave.”

Professors Manuela and Hanneman kicked things off by going around each class and having each student introduce themselves. There were certainly some characters in the bunch, Khalid noticed. Lorenz may as well have been the long-lost sibling of Sylvain and yet another redhead in the Black Eagles, Ferdinand von Aegir; they all gave off the air of noble superiority (see: snobbery) as they introduced themselves. The plum-haired Black Eagle, Bernadetta, looked like she was going to pass out from fright when it came to her turn, and poor Marianne was so quiet Hilda took pity on her and relayed her name loud enough for everyone to hear so she didn’t have to try and speak up. The green-haired Black Eagle boy who had practically fallen asleep in his eggs at breakfast was staring off into space when his turn came around, and a short, blue-haired boy jabbed him sharp in the ribs to get his attention.

After introductions were finished, the Golden Deer were led into their classroom by Professor Manuela for their first lesson, while the Black Eagles went with Professor Hanneman and the Blue Lions followed Professor Jeritza and the two knights to the training hall. They rotated after lunch, with the Deer heading to the training hall.

Over the next two weeks, things continued like this, with the classes switching between the professors each day. Their work was nothing particularly unexpected, giving lectures about each days lessons, then focusing time to work with each individual student on their specific talents, asking them to consider their personal goals for the future.

It didn’t take Khalid long to fall back into his tried-and-true habit of prowling the library in his free time, spending time talking about the monastery’s collection with the kindly librarian, Tomas, and returning to his room with stacks of books that had piqued his interest. They piled up on his desk, the top of the row of drawers that sat along the window, the floor, and even his bed. Khalid could practically see Addie’s exasperated glare if she had been there to see the state of his room; she always gave him no end of grief about the mess of books he tended to let clutter his room in Derdriu, despite his insistence that she really didn’t have to concern herself with keeping him tidy.

Monday through Saturday were spent in class, but since Sunday was a holy day for the Church, it was a free day for the students. Some of his classmates – notably Lorenz, Marianne, and a sweet Blue Lion girl named Mercedes who reminded Khalid a lot of Salma – dutifully attended the church service held in the Cathedral by Lady Rhea. Others used it for an extra day to study or train, like Felix who seemed to spend every waking moment out of class honing his sword technique in the training hall. Still others ( _cough, cough_ , _Hilda and Sylvain_ ) lazed away the day goofing off or flirting with their fellow classmates (and sometimes, each other). Linhardt, the sleepy Black Eagle, could often be found napping wherever he sat down, be it in the library or the dining hall or under the shade of a tall tree; and Khalid was pretty sure the only time he ever saw Bernadetta was during lessons.

It was just after lunch on their second free day. Khalid was in the library, buried in a book about bow technique that Shamir had recommended earlier in the week when the sound of sharp footsteps coming his direction drew his attention. Serious, no-nonsense Seteth stopped across the table from him, arms clasped behind his back. “I’m sorry to interrupt your studies, Claude, but Lady Rhea wishes to speak with you.”

Khalid blinked, flipping the book closed without marking his page. “I’m not in trouble, am I?” he asked with a laugh.

“No,” Seteth assured him, “there is simply a matter she wishes to discuss.”

He couldn’t think what the archbishop herself would need to talk to _him_ about, but who was he to refuse? He stood, leaving the book behind. “Lead the way.”

He followed Seteth out of the library and down the hall to the audience chamber. Rhea was standing at the end of the room, graceful and elegant as she’d been the night of the opening ceremony, and to Khalid’s surprise, Their Highnesses were there as well. They stood before Rhea, neither speaking while they waited. Dimitri stood ramrod straight, poised like a proper prince. Edelgard had a hand on her hip, looking remarkably short next to him, only standing a little taller than his chin.

Khalid fell in line next to them as Seteth moved to stand beside Rhea. He shot Edelgard a questioning look, to which she just offered a small shrug; they hadn’t been told any more than he had. Rhea smiled warmly at them. “Thank you for joining me. As you know, we’ve been waiting for the past two weeks for our missing professor to join us. This morning, we finally received word from him. It seems an encampment of bandits has been blocking the road, making it impossible for him to pass safely.”

“I’m sorry,” Edelgard interrupted before Khalid got the chance, “but why tell _us_ this?”

Rhea smiled patiently. “Typically, each month, professors are assigned a mission to complete with their class. However, that’s not going to be possible without our third professor. However, while discussing the situation with the Knights of Seiros, an idea occurred to Seteth and I.

“I’m sure you’re already aware,” she continued, “but this is the first time in the history of the Officers Academy that the three heirs next in line to inherit the reigning seat of power in each of the three nations have attended at the same time.” The three of them shared a look; yes, it was clearly something they’ve all already heard. “On of the missions of the Officers Academy is to foster camaraderie between the youths that will carry the future of Fódlan on their shoulders. The three of you carry that burden more than any of your peers. We thought it might be beneficial to use one unique situation to the advantage of another.”

“What exactly are you asking?” Khalid wondered, still not seeing how the three of them fit into the issue with their missing professor.

“Simply put,” Seteth took over, “we are sending a battalion of Knights to assist the professor. It would be foolish of a group of bandits to try and attack the Knights of Seiros. Since the threat of the bandits is minimal, it was our thinking that sending the three of you along with them as your classes' mission for the moon would be beneficial. Not only to aid in giving experience commanding troops, but also for you to come to know each other better.”

Khalid shared another look with the princess. Her light eyes were calculation as she considered it. Before either of them could speak, however, Dimitri bowed politely to Rhea. “We would be happy to help in whatever way we can.” And, damn if it wasn’t one of the most earnest things Khalid had heard.

“Wonderful,” Rhea beamed. “Thank you.”

“The Knights will be heading out first thing in the morning,” Seteth explained. “Alois will be leading the Knights. A Knight will find you later to ensure you have everything you need. Do try and be well rested.”

“Of course,” Edelgard assured, just hair too tight. They were dismissed and the three headed out of the audience chamber together.

“Wow, way to jump in head first, Your Highness,” Khalid laughed as the doors were closed behind them.

Dimitri’s cheeks flushed pink. “Surely you weren’t planning to turn down their request, Claude?”

“I might have given it some more thought first,” he admitted.

Dimitri turned to Edelgard, looking for her to back him up on the matter. “Claude is right,” she told him bluntly. “Only fools make such rash decisions. It won’t do for a king to agree to such requests without ensuring they have all the pertinent information and have given the matter adequate thought.”

Dimitri shook his head. “It won’t do for a king to sit idle when his people require help.”

Edelgard opened her mouth to argue, but Khalid decided he’d had enough of them already, slipping away back toward the library where his book was still waiting for him. Gods help him if he was going to be stuck listening to them bickering for days on end when they set out with the knights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case it hasn't been abundantly clear already, I know very little about Medieval/Renaissance era Arabian/Middle Eastern culture outside of some Google searches (so... many... Google searches) whenever I realized I didn't know something I was trying to write about, so if the depictions of Almyra/Azraq feel kind of... Aladdin-y, that's why.


End file.
